


Beloved

by Sinnatious



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Violence, post-Dirge of Cerebus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 93,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnatious/pseuds/Sinnatious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts when Cloud tries to leave during the middle of a Loveless performance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic hasn’t turned out at all like what was in my head. All of my bad writing habits came back in this fic – probably an unfortunate side effect of how it would constantly get sidelined by other projects. 
> 
> Heads up, there will be slash. Consider that warning for people since I’ve been enjoying writing gen for quite a while. As for the slash aspects, it turns up a bit later in the story, and isn't particularly graphic (as fair warning for those here only for smut, you'll be horribly disappointed and may want to turn back now.) As a purely pairing/romance story it's an utter failure, but hopefully there is enough plot otherwise to entertain you. I enjoyed writing it on a chapter-to-chapter basis, but on a macro level it didn't quite work out.
> 
> Also, thanks to Little House in the Woods for the beta!

“ _As the war sends the world hurtling towards destruction_  
 _The prisoner departs with his newfound love_  
 _And embarks on a new journey._ ”

Cloud shifted awkwardly in his seat as the narrator retreated into the shadows and the lights on the stage swung to focus on the hero. He should have left during the intermission at the end of the second act. Forget that – he shouldn’t have agreed to come in the _first_ place.

Tifa had twisted his arm, though. She’d never seen _Loveless_ – Nibelheim didn’t have a _cinema_ , much less a theatre, and she never had the opportunity after joining Avalanche. When Reeve had called with free tickets to a performance at the new theatre in Edge, there hadn’t even been a discussion.

The music swelled, and the hero’s lover whirled onto the stage, lacy skirts sweeping the floor. A small gasp of breath whispered beside him as the two actors embraced. A careful glimpse out of the corner of his eyes showed his childhood friend staring at the stage, starry-eyed and smiling. Totally enraptured.

Cloud tried to see if the chair could sink any lower – all the way to the Planet’s core, preferably. Fortunately Tifa wasn’t the sort of girl normally prone to extravagant romanticism, but once upon a time she nurtured her own fantasies of knights in shining armour sweeping her off her feet. As much as the burning of Nibelheim dampened those dreams, he supposed her heart still harboured a fondness for those sorts of fairy tales.

Which made it almost certain another painfully awkward attempt at intimacy now lay in wait back home.

Was it normal to dread it?

The hero raised his sword, and the spotlight followed. His fake armour clanked and jingled with every movement. Cloud sank deeper.

Everyone around him was too dressed up. The only concessions he’d made had been to leave his sunglasses in his pocket and his shoulder guard at home. Tifa wore a black evening dress, plain but for the lacy embroidery on the bodice. Normally he’d be expected to think she looked stunning in it, but the cut was too similar to a dress he’d worn once upon a time for him to do anything but remember the alien feeling of silk brushing his ankles.

The narrator stepped forward as the scene changed again.

“ _Though no oath is shared between the lovers,  
In their hearts they know they will meet again_.”

_Gaia_ , it _bugged_ him that the lead actress had green eyes. It also didn’t help that popular culture had recently developed a habit of always giving the villain silver hair.

That did it. He was out of there. As the theatre darkened for the set shift, he stood up. Tifa glanced at him. “Bathroom,” he muttered. Her brow tightened a moment – she probably already knew he didn’t intend to come back – but in the end, nodded her understanding.

A reprieve.

He stepped into the aisle, gaze narrowed and directed at the floor, and hurried up the steps towards the exit, hoping to make it out before the lights came back on.

He was almost there when a grip of steel fastened itself around his arm.

His free hand immediately snapped to First Tsurugi, before he remembered his sword waited with Fenrir and that he looked like an idiot grasping at air. He tensed, ready to strike out if necessary, when the stranger spoke.

“The show’s not finished.”

The voice was cultured and sharp, with the deliberately precise pronunciation of an upper-class accent. In the dark theatre, he couldn’t read much of the man’s features, or even his hair colour – especially not with his face still turned to the stage.  
  
Cloud forced down his fight-or-flight instincts – the play had made him jumpier than he thought – and replied, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

A scoff. “Don’t disrespect their work with such a poor lie. Intermission ended only fifteen minutes ago. _Watch_.” Then he shifted over to the empty space next to him, dragging him into his row.

The guy had a grip as strong as Barret. Cloud _could_ have still broken it, but the people nearby were starting to look, and the last thing he wanted was to create a disturbance. So with a slight huff, he took the empty seat next to the stranger.

The lights brightened again, revealing an old-fashioned war camp.

“Fine, I’ll stay. Let go,” he hissed.

“Quiet,” the man hushed, eyes fixed as firmly on the stage as the gloved fingers around Cloud’s wrist.

The play continued, brassy music echoing through the theatre. Cloud frowned and dragged his attention forward. Great. He’d annoyed Tifa, and _still_ hadn’t managed to escape. Did he _attract_ meddlesome people?

He kept half an eye on the man still pinning his arm to the seat – as though it were no great effort for him to do so – but the stranger paid him no mind, focused wholly on the stage. As the lights rose with the action, he caught a glimpse of short, reddish hair, the glint of a single earring, and a somewhat ragged maroon leather coat.

He shifted in his chair, mentally calculating the distance to the exit. The fingers around his wrist tightened as though in admonishment.

“ _After all, your glory should have been mine!_ ” The words rang through the theatre with energy and purpose. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the stranger mouth along with them.

His original misgivings about staying hadn’t abated – if anything, this far back in the theatre it was worse, as distance robbed the actors of their defining features and the resemblance to his memories grew even stronger. But apparently he wasn’t getting out of the rest of the show without creating a fuss. His gaze wandered to the back of Tifa’s head – distinguishable from the sea of brunettes only by the fact that hers was one of the few heads _not_ adorned with expensive, glittering hairclips.

The lights turned crimson, and the stage exploded into a simulacrum of battle, as actors whirled their fake swords in tandem above their heads. The heroine, dressed in a long, flowing white dress, swooned on the side of the stage, arm outstretched in a silent plea.

Grudgingly, Cloud had to admit that it was impressively done. The music created false tension, and while the fighting looked ridiculous to a trained eye, it was artistic enough to forgive it. All in all, far more interesting than his last experience at the theatre – although comparing a full scale _Loveless_ production with a Gold Saucer matinee maybe wasn’t fair of him.

They didn’t have audience participation, either. Another plus.

At some point near the end of the fourth act, the pressure on his wrist vanished. A sidelong glance at the man next to him showed him fully entranced in the action – possibly not even aware he’d let go.

Who _was_ he? What kind of theatre-lover had the strength to stop a SOLDIER First Class in his path?

…Not that he was _ever_ a SOLDIER First Class, but that was beside the point.

Cloud didn’t take the opportunity to escape, though. The play was winding up to the finale, so there wasn’t much point in leaving anymore. Maybe he could tell Tifa that rather than interrupt the show when returning, he’d taken an empty seat towards the back. It even had the benefit of being mostly true.

Before he knew it, the theatre was exploding in applause as the actors took their bows.

“Don’t be rude. Show your appreciation,” a voice hissed from his left.

With a silent sigh, Cloud started clapping too. Just in case the meddler decided to do it for him.

The lights rose, and while some hopefuls continued applauding for an extra curtain call, the rest of the audience began shifting in their seats, filling the auditorium with a rumbling murmur as the women reached for their handbags and the men switched their phones back on.

The stranger let out a contented sigh, and finally turned to him.

It was safe to say _neither_ of them had expected to be greeted with mako eyes.

The stranger recovered first. “That’s odd. I didn’t think any SOLDIERs were left,” he drawled.

Cloud bit down the usual retort about not being in SOLDIER. Somewhere in his shock he’d been struck with a horrible sensation of familiarity – the same sickening nostalgia that made him anxious throughout the show. “I’ve seen you before.”

It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The stranger’s eyes narrowed, and then in one swift move – with enough grace to make even _Vincent_ jealous – he leapt into the next row and slipped up the aisle to the exit, weaving through the crowd of departing patrons like a cat between ankles. In a whirl of red leather, he disappeared through the doors, leaving a thoroughly confused Cloud half-standing, arm reaching in an empty grasp.

“Cloud?” a familiar voice called. He turned – Tifa was approaching on the stairs, the black silk of her dress brushing the red carpet. “You stayed?” When he didn’t respond, her brow furrowed in concern. “Is something wrong?”

He glanced back towards the door.

He hadn’t thought there were any SOLDIERs left either.

“…It’s nothing. Let’s go.”  
  



	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that I completely forgot to put in warnings with the prologue, and there are probably things I need to warn about other than bad writing habits. So here they are:
> 
> Warnings for - Language, pretty much whenever Cid or Reno turn up. Also violence, and death of minor and original characters. And yeah, slash, or yaoi, or whatever fandom is calling it these days, it's kind of self-evident in the pairings. Some passing het too! Equal opportunity warnings. Okay that should be it I think.
> 
> ____________________

 

 

 

Fenrir growled to a halt, the hiss and click of the cooling engine lingering in his ears as he stared out over Midgar's ruins. A flash of movement caught his eye, but when he turned to look, it was only a stray guard hound nosing through the garbage.

His pocket buzzed. After a moment of deliberation, Cloud fished out his phone.

_“Cloud.”_   Reeve’s voice crackled through the speaker. _“Have you found anything yet?”_

"...Nothing. You?"

_“Vincent just called in. He tracked down another witness._ ” Cloud waited. Reeve, eventually realising he wasn’t going to get a response, extrapolated, _“A daylight sighting, this time. We’ve got a description. About six feet tall, mako eyes, white hair.”_

He should have been worried, but all he could summon was disappointment. “Just another clone, then.”

The hound’s ears perked up – it had caught a scent. It crouched, pawing at a pile of crumpled papers.

_"Or a Tsviet. Rufus has the Turks covering the eastern side. We can’t let it be, either way."_

He couldn't argue with that. The Tsviets had done a lot of damage. Kadaj, too. But he had a hard time believing there were any clones left.

Reeve must have read into his silence. _“It doesn’t mean there’s going to be another Sephiroth_. _”_

He watched, idle, as the hound finally ferreted out his prey. A tiny mandragora scuttled into the sunlight, startled from its nest of junk. The hound snapped it up, crushing the squirming body between its jaws in one bite. The sibilant shriek of pain carried on the wind. “I know. But have to keep looking, right?”

_“Right.”_   Reeve waited a beat, but when he didn’t receive any further comment, continued, _“Do you want me to call Tifa and let her know you’ll be back late?”_

“Yeah. Thanks.” It would save him having to do it.

_“Ok. Call for backup if-”_

Cloud hung up.

…Not the man from the theatre, after all.

He frowned, and hit the release on the sword compartments. They sprung open with a heavy  _thunk_ , and he withdrew three of the blades. It had been stupid to come out here expecting to find something in the first place - on nothing more than the rumour of a man with glowing eyes roaming Midgar’s ruins. Spotted at night, it could have easily been a monster.

Leaving Fenrir behind, he slid down an embankment of cracked concrete. Midgar's remains had only become more dangerous over the past year. Structures caved in regularly and without warning, and the spectre of Geostigma and mako contamination kept sensible people away. Monsters made their nests in the broken shells of buildings and most roads were impassable on anything but foot. Only the bravest of scavengers entered the inner districts now, and they usually regretted it.

Cloud didn't have the same concerns. Fenrir was built to handle even the roughest surfaces, and anything it couldn’t traverse provided little barrier to enhancements that let him cut through walls or leap from rooftop to rooftop. He didn’t have to worry about a little mako in the air, either, considering how high his tolerance had been pushed. And the monsters that had moved in were _sport_ compared to what lived in the Northern Crater.

The same logic, he reasoned, applied to _any_ SOLDIER. Which was why he’d spent the past two weeks poking through wreckage, under the guise of helping Reeve track down a suspected rogue clone. Which now turned out to be a false lead.

What had he been hoping for, anyway? What had he expected to find? What was he _doing_ here?

Cloud strode through the rubble with a sure step – the rough concourses of shattered concrete weren’t that different to some of Nibelheim’s more treacherous mountain paths. A cool breeze peppered his face with grit, prompting him to fetch his sunglasses from his pocket and settle them on his nose. An eerie silence blanketed his surroundings. The local monsters had all skulked back to their nests. Not even the ever-present copses of razor weed scurried out of his path.

Something had frightened them all off before he’d arrived.

A glimpse of movement to the west caught his attention. Cloud tensed, reaching for his sword. He might not have noticed it if he hadn’t put on his sunglasses. As it was, the distant figure darting through the ruins was almost lost in the glare of sunlight reflecting off the wide expanse of twisted metal. The white hair blended in too well.

For a moment, disbelief reigned supreme. Just when he’d decided this was a waste of time, he’d wound up stumbling across Reeve’s rogue clone anyway.

His fingers slipped from First Tsurugi’s hilt. The man in question – it was unmistakeably a man, he wore nothing but a pair of loose grey pants – hadn’t noticed him yet, too enraptured by whatever had caught his attention at the bottom of the nearest crater.

Cloud frowned, vision flickering with the image of a slender clone with a katana, falling from the sky. This was where he’d fought Kadaj. When he hadn’t been paying attention, his feet had brought him to yet another landmark drenched with heavy memories.

He shook the recollection off with practiced ease, and leapt down from his vantage point. His landing barely stirred the air – it wouldn’t do to alert the target. Although if he _were_ a clone, their shared connection should have been all the warning necessary. He could sense _something_ off, but it was so faint, so diffuse, it was hard to pin down whether it was resonance with S-cells or just nervous tension.

A pebble skittered across the ground behind him.

Cloud spun on his heel, and whipped First Tsurugi from its holster.

The clash of metal rang out across the desolate landscape like a tolling bell. Cloud cursed under his breath as he saw the clone startle and dash away, but he had scarcely a moment to spare the thought before he was dancing backwards, fending off rapid, sweeping slashes from a crimson rapier. On the last strike he twisted his sword, locking their blades together, and got his first good look at his surprise assailant.

“ _You_.”

The redhead’s grin was vicious and his blue eyes glowed with mako. “ _Me_.” He pressed down against the lock. Cloud matched his strength for a moment, then shifted his stance and lashed out with his foot. The stranger danced back, red leather coat flaring with the graceful movement, and dashed forward again just as quickly. Their blades shrieked as they clashed. “Who _are_ you?” he demanded, as though affronted Cloud hadn’t crumpled on first contact.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Cloud replied. When he’d hoped for a second meeting, he never imagined it would go like _this_.

The stranger’s eyes flicked to the side. Following his gaze, Cloud frowned – the clone was leaving the crater. He half-turned to give chase, but a flare of heat wrenched his attention back as bright crimson flames burst along his opponent’s rapier.

_Materia?_ Hastily, he broke their lock and leapt back, sweeping the fire away with the flat of his sword. The falling embers glowed dimly through his sunglasses. “I’m not here to fight you.”

“ _Liar_. I’ve been watching you. You were _hunting_ ,” the SOLDIER sneered. “On an errand for _ShinRa_!” He threw out a hand, gathering magic. Energy crackled in the air.

“ShinRa doesn’t exist anymore.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I highly doubt _that_. I’ve seen the Turks lurking around.”

So much for the vaunted Turk stealth. “That’s nothing to do with _you_.”

“So it is simply coincidence that mere _days_ after our encounter in the theatre ShinRa’s goons are suddenly crawling all over Midgar.”

“I didn’t tell them about you.”

“ _I_ _don’t believe you_ ,” he snapped, and clicked his fingers.

The ground beneath his feet exploded into a maelstrom of flames.

Cloud cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling to avoid burning his lungs. Blindly, he dashed through the blaze, heedless of the searing heat, counting on speed alone to avoid being burned. The SOLDIER met him on the other side, smirking vindictively as their swords clashed again, and again, each strike jarring to his very bones.

The hum of materia alerted him to another fireball – he twisted mid-air to avoid it, weight suspended on his sword. The SOLDIER took advantage and pushed him away, sending him flying. He landed hard, skidding backwards through the ashes scattered on the charred ground.

“You’re in over your head!” the SOLDIER taunted, and leapt forward, rapier brandished.

For several minutes, they traded blows, swords glancing off each other and sparking with each parry, a wordless conversation as they took each other’s measure. The man from the theatre was _good_ – better than anyone he’d fought since Sephiroth. It felt like fighting someone familiar, who knew his style and could anticipate each strike he made half a breath before he made it.

But it wasn’t good enough. Quick as the SOLDIER was, he couldn’t cover every opening fast enough.

Cloud saw his chance, and jabbed straight at his throat.

The SOLDIER rocked back on his heels, glowing blue eyes wide – the tip of the blade passed a finger’s width from his face. Pressing his advantage, Cloud swung again. The redhead leapt over the strike, then wrenched himself to the side. First Tsurugi’s edge sliced through the maroon coat and scraped his elbow. A thin trickle of blood ran from the wound, disappearing down his opponent’s arm.

They sprang apart – the SOLDIER eyeing him more warily now. “You _do_ look familiar…” he drawled, keeping his distance and circling him like a wolf stalking its prey - buying time to regroup, to reassess. "But I'm _certain_ there was never anyone like you in SOLDIER."

Cloud turned with him, wary of the next attack. “So you _were_ in SOLDIER.”

“Of course. Genesis Rhapsodos, SOLDIER First Class.” He took a shallow bow, though his eyes remained firmly forward.

The name tickled the edge of his subconscious. Cloud grasped at a sliver of a memory, a voice – was it Zack’s, or his own? For some reason, the steps of the Nibelheim reactor sprung to mind, but flitted away again before he could even wonder why.

The redhead watched him carefully now, curiosity filtering into his sharp eyes. “You don’t recall?”

He paused, pushing, _searching_ , but ultimately it was fruitless. “There’s something, but…” He shook his head. “My memory’s not very reliable.”

Genesis huffed, and somehow managed to seem _offended_. “Your name,” he demanded.

Cloud considered it. Could sharing his _name_ really do any harm? Genesis shared his, after a fashion, so it seemed only fair. “…Cloud Strife.”

“Cloud Strife,” he tested, as though tasting the words on his tongue. His face twisted in a sour expression – it seemed the name brought _him_ no answers, either.

They stood at an impasse. Soft grit skittered down the crater’s edge, its gentle shift unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

“…I _should_ kill you, Cloud Strife,” Genesis eventually remarked. “You are a security risk I cannot afford. Give me one reason to let you live.”

Death threats had long lost their effect on him, though admittedly if he truly _were_ a SOLDIER First Class, Genesis might be the first opponent in a long while with a real chance on following through. Cloud shrugged it off, slinging his sword into its harness – though was careful to keep his hand on the hilt, just in case. The man seemed prone to violent mood swings. “I’m not your enemy.”

“The evidence says otherwise.”

Diplomacy wasn’t Cloud’s strongest suit – they’d clearly stepped off on the wrong foot, and he had no idea how to proceed from here. But he felt sure pointing out that _Genesis_ had been the one to attack without provocation wouldn’t help. “No matter what it looks like, I don’t have anything to do with ShinRa anymore.”

Genesis scoffed, but didn’t argue this time. “So what is it you’re out here looking for, then?”

A good question. Now that the man from the theatre stood before him in person, he couldn’t explain why he’d gone searching in the first place. “…Understanding.” It felt incredibly insufficient as an answer, but he couldn’t figure out a better way to put it.

Eyeing him speculatively, Genesis let out a thoughtful hum. “ _We seek it thus, and take to the sky._ ” He pushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. “Very well, Cloud Strife. I’ll humour you. What is it that you so desperately seek to understand?”

He mulled over that for a moment, and eventually settled on, “If I don’t know you, why do you look so familiar?”

Genesis smirked. “Perhaps I wasn’t as _notorious_ as ShinRa’s beloved General-” The words were soaked in sarcasm. “-but I _was_ a SOLDIER First Class. It’s hardly surprising.” The glow of his eyes seemed to brighten. “The _real_ question, Cloud Strife, is how do _I_ know _you_?”

If neither of them knew, how were they supposed to find out?

He never got the chance to reply. Abruptly, Genesis tensed. A droning hum rose in the distance, the roar of a motor mixing with the chopping of air.

In that moment, Cloud could sense the fragile truce shatter. Genesis narrowed his eyes, anger burning anew in their glowing depths. “I see. That’s what this is.” His free hand curled into a fist, crackling with magic. “You were simply planning to keep me here in the _open_ until the Turks came!”

SOLDIER-enhanced reflexes were all that let Cloud dodge the blazing fireball. He whirled, pulling First Tsurugi free in one smooth motion – then froze.

Black feathers spread wide, and Cloud’s breath caught in his throat. Blind fear and denial ran down his spine, paralysing him, narrowing his entire focus until his vision was filled with nothing but the horrifying vision of a single dark wing, stretching from the SOLDIER’s back.

_“My Soul corrupted by vengeance,_  
Hath endured torment,  
To find the end of the journey in my own salvation.”

The words seemed to come from the very wind, murmuring mockingly in his ears.

Cloud clutched his sword in a white-knuckled grip.

Then, with a flourish, Genesis fled to the sky.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 2

 

 

Cloud rolled Fenrir into the garage behind Tifa’s bar. The engine’s rumble died, and the following silence pressed against his ears as the rest of the soundscape struggled to fill the void.

He could hear the low murmur of conversation from the pub, accompanied by clinking glasses and the static-filled drone of a television. A quiet night. Good. The last thing he wanted to deal with right then was a bunch of rowdy drunks.

The sun had long set, cloaking the streets in darkness. It took a couple of hours to make it to Edge from the centre of Midgar thanks to the hazardous terrain, and he’d also stopped by the church to clean off the soot and calm his nerves. Stars, once obscured by the sea of light and haze of pollution, sparkled brightly overhead.

He headed around to the front of the building. Several men – construction workers, by the looks of it – loitered by a truck parked near the entrance. Probably on their way home. They glanced over, giving him a weird look, but otherwise ignored him.

Cloud felt for the reassuring weight of plastic on his face. Wearing sunglasses at night might be considered odd, but it was better than the alternative.

The door bell jingled as he entered. Tifa looked up from behind the bar and gave him a relieved smile. Her eyes darted towards the corner.

“Oi, Cloud! It’s about time, yo!”

Four black suits were sitting in one of the booths. The Turks.

Cloud frowned. Then deliberately walked on without a word, heading for the employee’s area.

“Hey Cloud! Cloud!” Reno protested, scrambling from his seat after him, red hair mussed and goggles almost falling off his head.

Tifa caught the door before he could escape. “They said they’re just here to share information. I made them promise there weren’t any jobs involved.”

She stared him down, dark brown eyes almost pleading. Cloud sighed. She smiled, and let go of the door.

Reluctantly, he turned back to the table. Reno stumbled to a stop and held up his hands defensively. “No need for trouble. We just wanna talk.”

Cloud ignored him, brushing past to sit across from Tseng.

“Strife,” he greeted cordially. Elena echoed the greeting with a polite nod of her head.

Reno ambled back to the booth, but remained standing – Cloud didn’t care to shift over to make room for him. “Cool shades. Rude! You ain’t the only one wearing them at night now. Maybe you two can start a trend, yo.”

Rude adjusted his sunglasses, but didn’t otherwise comment.

“Shouldn’t some of you be off guarding your boss?” Cloud stated bluntly. It was odd to see the Turks as he knew them without Rufus nearby.

“Rufus is fully recovered and does not require a constant guard anymore,” Tseng replied. “Our resources are finite, and he judged they were better spent elsewhere.”

In other words, Rufus had kicked them out by assigning them errands. By the tightness of Tseng’s expression, he wasn’t happy about it.

Cloud wasn’t happy about it either, since it looked like _he_ was the errand. He folded his arms. “What do you want?”

“You didn’t call in,” Tseng said. His tone was mild, but Cloud could hear the reproach in it all the same. Tseng was talented like that.

“I report to Reeve, not Rufus,” he replied coldly.

“There’s no need to be _rude_ ,” Elena burst out. “We were just worried, and-”

“-And the search would be easier if we could coordinate our efforts better,” Tseng interjected smoothly. “There was an incident today, and Reeve couldn’t contact you.”

His PHS had been buzzing in his pocket incessantly since Genesis took off. He hadn’t been in the mood to answer. The sight of that black wing had left him too rattled.

They took his silence as an invitation to explain. Reno stepped up to the task. “Heard a big explosion near the city centre, yo. Hard for us to get that far in on foot, so we got a bird in the sky. Wasn’t much to see by the time we got there, though.”

Tseng nodded his agreement. “Did you see anything, Strife? You were in the area, according to Reeve.”

Cloud shook his head. No need to tell them about Genesis. He couldn’t explain why, but he didn’t think the man was a threat, wing or not.

“Maybe a monster disturbed some old gas tanks,” Elena suggested.

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard, yo,” Reno sniggered.

The blonde girl slammed her hands on the table, flushing with anger. “It’s happened before!”

The bar grew suddenly quiet. From behind the counter, Tifa gave them a warning stare.

“Reno, Elena,” Tseng chided. Elena immediately sat back in her seat - posture as straight as an arrow. Reno made a face, but mercifully stayed silent. Rude took a leisurely sip of his drink.

The background conversation slowly rose back up to a constant murmur. His subordinates back in line, Tseng turned to Cloud. “We’ve managed to get a description, now. At first we thought it was a Tsviet, but the profile matches a rogue clone.”

Cloud nodded. “Reeve already told me.”

“Bastards are like razor weed,” Reno grumbled.

“Have you sensed anything?” Tseng asked.

So that was what this was about. Cloud tensed and glared at him – not that Tseng could tell behind the glasses. “I’m not a clone.”

“No one said you are, bub.” Reno sauntered back and forth in front of their table like a couerl looking for the best sunbeam to bask in. “But if Sephiroth’s planning on making another appearance, I wouldn’t mind a bit of forewarning, y’know?”

“Reno.” Rude spoke up for the first time, the warning rumbling low in his throat.

The redhead gave a dismissive wave. “Aw, shut up, yo. Cranky pants here _knows_ he’s a Sephiroth radar. He chased him all the way to the Northern freaking Crater!”

Cloud stood. He didn’t have the patience for the Turks’ hypocrisy – not after the day he’d had. “Sephiroth’s _gone_. The only way he could come back is if _you_ happened to be hiding more Jenova remains.”

It was to Tseng’s credit that he didn’t flinch – Elena didn’t manage to hide it.

“Yo, Cloud, no need to be all-” Reno yelped when Cloud caught his wrist before it could meet his shoulder. He gave the Turk a dismissive glance and stalked off towards the back, where Tifa was wiping down the counter and shaking her head at the fuss.

As he left, Reno turned to Tseng and asked, “So, boss, reckon Rufus is being paranoid?”

Cloud pretended not to hear.

Nothing ever _really_ changed.

…………………..

Reeve set down his pen next to an impressively thick stack of documents. He still wore his dark blue ill-fitting suit, though new streaks of grey peppered his hair every time Cloud saw him. Yet despite the obvious toll the workload of running the WRO and inventing new technologies was taking on him, he seemed as full of energy as ever.

That might have had something to do with the sight in the corner of the room - Cait standing on his own desk, pawing through a pile of invoices. “Cloud!” The robotic cat greeted him with a cheerful wave, and Cloud nodded back. He raised his eyebrows at Reeve, who looked sheepish.

“I’ve programmed him to be fairly independent, but he operates on the parameters I set, after all. It really cuts down on the busywork,” Reeve explained.

“Ach, you’re a lazy bastard!” Cait hollered, but didn’t deviate from his task.

“Shame I can’t mass-produce him, really.” Reeve smiled, and finally turned his attention forward. “So, Cloud, I wasn’t expecting this visit. How can I help you?”

“I’m quitting the search.”

Reeve blinked in surprise. “…Can I ask why?”

Cloud shrugged. “I have other things to do.” The only reason he’d agreed to help in the first place was to try and track down the man from the theatre. Now that he’d found him, better he cut ties.

Genesis had made one thing clear in their skirmish – he was hiding from ShinRa. Cloud knew what that felt like and wouldn’t risk exposing him. The best way to avoid that would be to put as much distance between himself and ShinRa as possible while he conducted his own investigations. And like it or not, the WRO and Neo-ShinRa worked too closely together for him to keep reporting to Reeve.

“I wish you’d reconsider. After the last two incidents, we’re hoping to take preventative action for once.”

“Good luck to you,” was his simple response. “But I’m not changing my mind.”

Reeve threaded his fingers together in his lap, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Is everything okay, Cloud? Ever since the Deep Ground Uprising you’ve seemed… withdrawn.” He chuckled, a little nervously. “More than usual, that is.”

“Everything’s fine,” he replied shortly, and turned to go. “I just wanted to let you know.”

…………………..

Cloud spent two days catching up on deliveries, and then he was back in Midgar.

Having cut ties to the investigation, he hadn’t told either the Turks _or_ Reeve, this time. As far as Tifa and the kids knew, he was just going to clear out any monsters near the church, though she’d given him a _look_ when he left. One of those, ‘I know you’re not telling me something, but I’m going to be understanding and internalise all my worries instead’ looks.

Apparently Tifa had thought that once he got over his guilt, he'd become a different person. Cloud regretted disappointing her, but he’d already spent too long pretending to be someone else.

Gravel crunched beneath Fenrir’s tyres as the bike growled to an abrupt stop – he’d reached the end of this particular route. The highway to the centre hadn’t been fixed after the Omega incident – a fifty metre gap still stretched across a pit of jagged concrete and steel. There had been no point in repairing it. The WRO limited their material scavenging to the edges of the ruined city now, and with new factories coming online in Edge every week and new trade corridors now firmly established, the demand had dropped off. The abandoned city grew even quieter, and its neglected ruins crumbled.

After a moment spent assembling his sword and adjusting his sunglasses, Cloud climbed down the wreckage, pebbles grinding under his boots.

An ahriman screeched and flapped overhead, startled from its perch. A copse of razor weed scattered as he approached. Midgar might no longer be fit for humans, but already traces of life had begun to return to its alleyways.

It took two hours to arrive at his destination - one of the craters surrounding what was left of ShinRa headquarters. The place where he’d fought Kadaj, and later Sephiroth.

The place where he’d seen the clone.

Cloud wasn’t stupid. Genesis and the clone were connected. The black wing was suspicious enough, but the suspect timing sealed the deal. Why else would Genesis have chosen that moment to attack and reveal himself?

He had no idea what to make of it yet, but the clone hadn’t been aggressive so Cloud wasn’t really concerned with him. Honestly, even if it _weren’t_ for keeping Genesis off the radar he would be inclined to keep the clone out of Turk hands. Neo-ShinRa kept interfering where they weren’t welcome. Thanks to Tseng, they possessed just enough competence to get their hands on almost anything. Thanks to Rufus, they possessed just enough _in_ competence to ensure it always blew up in their faces.

He picked his way to the bottom of the crater, skirting the charred wreckage where Genesis had tried to blow him up. As always, an eerie pall covered this part of Midgar. Nothing broke the pervasive silence. No claws of small vermin skittering over the concrete, no whoosh of a passing ahriman, no shifting gravel as a mandragora buried itself in the ground. It had remained undisturbed for the better part of two years.

Except now, at the very centre of the crater, someone had been digging.

Cloud knelt, gloved fingers trailing through the loose debris. The signs wouldn’t have been immediately obvious to someone not familiar with the area – or to anyone without the subtly enhanced senses of a SOLDIER. Further away, he could spy a faint trail – smudged footprints in the fine film of grey dust that blanketed every exposed bit of concrete and metal. A white hair caught on a jagged piece of glass. An odd bow to a sheet of steel where it had sagged under someone’s weight.

He wanted to find Genesis again - to get an explanation for the wing, find out how he’d survived, figure out where that nagging sense of familiarity came from. Having such important memories just out of his reach made him edgy – the last time he’d experienced the sensation, it eventually led to a complete mental breakdown.

And if he wanted to find Genesis again, the quickest way would be to try and find the clone.

Following the path was slow going and he found himself retracing his steps more than once. As far as tracking terrain went, Midgar’s ruins made for the very worst, and the trail was already two days old. Having an idea of the general bearing of the clone’s departure and which areas the Turks had been patrolling that day were all that kept him on track enough to pick out the occasional smudge of a footprint. Had the clone been wearing shoes he never would have made it more than a hundred metres.

For once in his life though, fortune granted him a reprieve, and Cloud eventually found himself staring at the heavy wooden doors to a theatre.

The foyer of the building had been torn out. The roof was mostly intact, shielded by a slab of the Sector 4 plate that had gouged deep into the earth, creating a sort of one-sided tent for the structure. The carpet beneath his feet had long been ruined by exposure to the elements, and the glass barrier for the ticket office now littered the ground like sharp, glittering confetti.

Carefully, Cloud reached out and pushed the heavy door open, keeping a hand on First Tsurugi’s hilt. The creaking hinges shrieked in his ears.

No chance of sneaking in after that. He shoved it open the rest of the way and strode inside.

The auditorium fared better. Aside from the odd finger of sunlight poking through some holes on the exposed side, the roof was undamaged. A few of the red velvet chairs in the stalls were missing or overturned, and the tall crimson curtain over the stage had been half-ripped from its rails, but it hadn’t suffered nearly as badly as most places.

Most tellingly, though, the stage had been swept clear of debris.

“Back again so soon, Cloud Strife?” The voice echoed off the walls.  


Followed immediately by a rasp of steel.

First Tsurugi sang as it whipped through the air, meeting the rapier slashing through the shadows with a deafening clash. The blades sparked as they struck, illuminating for one brief moment red hair and glowing blue eyes.

Cloud never wanted to hear Tifa accuse him of being too quick to draw his sword ever again.

He pushed away, dancing backwards to avoid the next crimson sweep. Genesis ran a finger along his blade, and it began to blaze an unearthly red. The next slash let out a burst of flames. Cloud ducked and rolled, the searing heat roaring harmlessly overhead, dissipating mere moments before it splashed against the wall.

“How did you find me?” Genesis hissed. Cloud jerked his head to the side, barely avoiding the sword’s edge. “Why have you come here? Are you that eager to die?”

“I’m not interested in fighting!” Cloud snapped, and sidestepped another searing slash. “I told you, I’m not with ShinRa!”

Genesis merely attacked again. He apparently didn’t care.

This SOLDIER wasn’t the hardest-hitting opponent he’d ever faced, but he made up for it with skill alone. Cloud swept his sword up, knocking aside a strike that would have pierced his heart. Genesis moved with confidence born of experience. His sword strikes were fast, precise, and deadly, leaving no immediately obvious opening. And he used Fire materia as though it were as easy as _breathing_.

But Cloud was no novice either.

Sparks flew as their blades clashed, and clashed again. The rapier sliced through the carpet, leaving a charred path, flinging embers into his face. Cloud found himself grateful he’d left his sunglasses on, even if they left the already dim theatre dark as night. He spun on his heel, slashing downwards. First Tsurugi cleaved a velvet chair in two. There was a whisper of movement and heat at his back. He lashed out with his foot. His boot brushed leather.

They traded rapid blows, swords shrieking as they came into contact, hopping along the backs of chairs, sparring in the aisles.

Until, on one parry, Genesis locked his rapier and braced with his back heel. Their weapons pressed together in stalemate, and then suddenly a hand snatched at his sunglasses. Surprised, Cloud back-pedalled - but not fast enough to avoid Genesis hooking a finger on the black frames.

“What is your _problem_?” he demanded.

Genesis ignored him, folding the captured glasses in hand and tilting his head in contemplation.

“Hmm. That rules out Deep Ground.”

Cloud adjusted his stance. Even if his opponent were suddenly talking casually, an attack could come again at any time. Sephiroth had taught him that lesson the hard way. “What are you talking about?”

Genesis waved a lazy hand. “Tsviets’ eyes glow brighter and pulsate in time with their heartbeat. Stable SOLDIERs have a more natural glow, one that is normally only noticeable up close or at night.” He tapped his chin in thoughtful repose. “And yet, you _definitely_ weren’t in SOLDIER.”

Cloud didn’t care to enlighten him. Instead of answering the unspoken question, he asked, “Is it just you here?” The clone’s trail had led to this place, but aside from the swept stage there weren’t any signs of inhabitants.

Immediately, Genesis was back on his guard. “Oh? Planning a raid, Cloud Strife?” On guard, but confident he could win. “So _there are no dreams, no honour remains_.”

It wasn’t an answer. Cloud brandished his sword. “Just tell me.”

Genesis raised an eyebrow. He looked amused by the threat. It had been a while since Cloud had been underestimated – and he didn’t like the sensation any more now than before. “No need to fear, SOLDIER. I’m quite alone.” His rapier began to glow again. “And _so are you_.”

The SOLDIER charged. Each strike battered Cloud with a wave of heat that made his eyes smart and his fingers burn. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, but it was annoying. He leapt back, First Tsurugi held flat like a shield.

“You were foolish to return, Cloud Strife! I will not bow to ShinRa’s will quietly!”

“I’m not _from_ ShinRa,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Nobody _ever_ listened to him. He parried a blow, and returned with a cross-slash. His fingers rested on his sword release, but hesitated.

He could win this battle, but what was the point? Genesis had clearly made up his mind and refused to stop long enough to listen. And Cloud didn’t want to kill him. He still didn’t know why the SOLDIER was so familiar to him, or how he fit into the grand messed up scheme of things.

Until he had those answers, he couldn’t fight this man.

That left only one course of action.

They exchanged a flurry of blows. Cloud leapt back to avoid another blast of heat – it was amazing the theatre hadn’t caught on fire yet – jumped high, and dove into a Braver. Genesis blocked it, but he obviously hadn’t expected the force of the blow – it knocked him off-balance, and he stumbled backward.

Cloud took the chance, and dashed for the exit.

He burst outside, wincing at the bright afternoon sunlight. Just in time, he turned to catch the slash aimed at his back.

“Taking the fight outside?” Genesis purred, face twisted in a cruel smirk. “You’ve only given yourself a disadvantage.”

In a burst of black feathers, the wing spread from his back, filling his vision. A dark shadow. The mark of a monster.

This time, Cloud fought down his anxiety at the sight and kept his sword steady. It _wasn’t_ Sephiroth. It was the wrong side, the wrong shape, the wrong sword. He needed to focus on the _face_ , not the wing.

“If we fight out here,” he said, “It would just draw the attention of the Turks again. And then killing me to keep your hideout a secret won’t mean anything.”

The SOLDIER stilled. A cool breeze rustled across the demolished foyer, sweeping loose black feathers into the air. Genesis stared at him, face curiously blank.

The moment stretched. Cloud’s fingers tightened around First Tsurugi’s hilt. His palms felt sweaty.

“…Well played, SOLDIER.”

Painfully slowly, the wing refurled.

Cloud lowered his sword, and backed away. Genesis let him. Their eyes met across the growing distance. His stare hardened.

“Don’t come looking for me again, or I’ll kill you, Cloud Strife.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 3

 

 

Cloud parked Fenrir in the usual place, and then sat in the darkness for several minutes, waiting for the lingering adrenaline from the battle to recede. It felt like waking from a strange dream as the cool mantle of reality settled over his shoulders once more.

After all that effort he still didn’t know anything beyond Genesis’s name and rank, didn’t get any of the answers he’d sought. Other than confirming their connection, he hadn’t even found out anything about the _clone_. All he’d done was drive a deeper wedge into a pointless conflict.

Why couldn’t he ever seem to do anything other than fight?

His gloves were singed from the battle – it wouldn’t do to have Tifa see and ask questions. He stripped them off and stowed them in one of the empty compartments, then headed around to the front. The sign sat dark, the building quiet. Tifa must have closed up early.

“Look it. It’s one of those freaks.”

Startled, Cloud glanced across the street. A trio of teenagers were lounging on the steps of the general store across the road, beers in hand, whispering amongst themselves.

Glaring at him.

His fingers reached for the reassuring feel of plastic, but his face was bare.

He’d forgotten to get his sunglasses back from Genesis.

It was dark out. His eyes were like beacons.

Cloud swore under his breath.

Emboldened by his hesitation, they stood up. “Hey! Your kind aren’t welcome here!”

“Yeah, get outta our town!”

“Before you destroy Edge, too!”

Cloud stared. He wouldn’t say he was _shocked_ , but this was… unexpected.

One of them reached down, snatching a jagged bit of concrete from the ground, and hurled it at him. "I said leave, you freak!"

His wrist snapped up and blocked the rock before it could hit his face.

"Monster!"

The word hit a nerve. Cloud took a threatening step towards the boy.

Suddenly their bravado vanished and the other two kids scrambled away, faces pale. “Shiva, why’d you have to throw the damn rock you idiot? He’s gonna kill us!”

“I’ll take him on!” he bragged, smashing his beer bottle against the store’s banister and brandishing the jagged glass like a weapon.

“Are you _stupid_? He’s one of _them_!” His two friends grabbed him by the arms and bodily hauled him away.

Cloud watched them go, face blank, then turned to go into the bar.

He slammed the door to Seventh Heaven shut behind him, unsettled, but determined not to show it. Memories of Nibelheim skittered behind his eyes - childish taunting that had warped into an adult nightmare.

Somehow, their fearful retreat had been worse than throwing stones.

“Cloud?” Tifa called from upstairs.

He hurried up to the second floor. The hallway was dark, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need the light. He headed straight for the bathroom, and spent a moment staring into the mirror. Two bright circles of mako stared back at him, casting ghostly blue shadows across his face.

It wasn’t a surprise, not really. There had been definite tension in Edge for a while now. Things never really settled down again after the Deep Ground Uprising – the hunts and the purges had been terrifying for everyone. There had been too many tragedies in too short a time for the displaced people of Midgar to truly relax.

It was, perhaps, why Reeve and Rufus had people out chasing up clone sightings even though things were quiet.

It didn’t take long for Tifa to find him – he could hear her fumbling in the dark, and a second later the hallway blared with light and chased the shadows away. “Cloud?”

He didn’t answer. She appeared in the doorway.

“You’re back. How were the flowers?”

He didn’t answer that, either. “The kids?”

“Barret’s in town. He took them out for the night.”

Cloud’s stomach dropped to somewhere in the Planet’s crust.

_Again_? So soon?

Maybe if he pretended to be oblivious, she wouldn’t bring it up.

She stepped deeper into the room, and frowned. “What happened to your hand?”

Remembering why he’d come into the bathroom to begin with, he twisted the taps on and stuck his hand under the cool, bubbling water. The smear of blood on his knuckles washed away, revealing perfectly mended skin beneath.

“Cloud, talk to me.”

“It was nothing,” he said firmly.

“I _told_ you it’s still too dangerous to go into Midgar without backup,” she said, crossing her arms. “Especially since you never agree to carry a tracker or-”

“It wasn’t from Midgar,” he interrupted, twisting the taps off.

It was a mistake to say even that much. In the mirror, he watched the realisation dawn on his childhood friend’s face. “Who was it?” He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “Was it those kids outside? They’ve been mouthing off at people all week. What did they _do_?”

“I said it was nothing,” he dismissed, drying his hands.

Tifa set her jaw, the edges of her mouth tugging down in a barely suppressed frown. "I'll talk to Reeve. ShinRa's propaganda is getting out of control. If people are causing you problems just because of your eyes, it’s gone too far." She bit her lip, deep in thought. "Maybe if we get you on TV, so people know what you've done-"

"Not interested," he cut her off, heading towards his office.

"Cloud!" She followed after him. "It's not _right_ ," she insisted. "We have to do something. You shouldn’t be running around wearing sunglasses all the time. You shouldn’t be _hiding_."

He pulled open his desk drawer and started rifling through the contents. After a moment’s searching, he finally located his spare pair black sunglasses - almost identical to the ones Genesis had stolen.

Tifa came to the door, but didn’t cross the threshold to the room. “I know it’s been bothering you,” she said softly. “It’s why you were so uncomfortable during the play, wasn’t it?”

Not true at all. The play had made him uncomfortable for entirely different reasons he couldn’t quite name.

“Forget it,” he said, slamming the drawer shut. “It was just some kids, causing trouble.”

“Oh, Cloud.” She stepped into the room, trailing a soft hand down his bare arm, twining their fingers together. Against his better judgement, he let her.

He’d hoped she’d forgotten, or wouldn’t push it after hearing what happened outside.

His luck hadn’t been very good lately.

“I just… I worry. I care about you.” The words were like feathers, she spoke them so cautiously. Soft and caring and delivered so gently, as though she were afraid they would break him. She stepped closer, until they were almost flush against each other.

He avoided meeting her eyes, but didn’t move away. When her soft lips pressed against his mouth, he even did his best to respond, no matter how awkward and fumbling it felt. When her hand rose to his chest, he folded her in his arms.

But in the end, when her fingers roamed over his hips, and her breasts pressed against his chest, he pulled away.

“I’m sorry.”

The same story repeated, almost every time. There had always been an excuse, previously. Too busy with AVALANCHE. Grieving over Aeris. Suffering Geostigma. Fighting Deep Ground.

He’d run out of excuses now.

Tifa turned away, wrapping her arms around herself, making it harder to see the look of crushed disappointment on her face. “…Is it me?” she asked. Her voice, normally so steady and comforting, sounded small and vulnerable.

Cloud closed his eyes. “It’s not you.”

A hurt silence lingered. He didn’t have the words to chase it away, so he simply left the room.

It wasn’t fair. Tifa deserved better. Not a day went by where he didn’t wish he could fulfil her dreams. She meant that much to him. It tore at him to see her doubt herself, to constantly question what she was doing wrong.

But in the same breath, he couldn’t go through with it. Because in the end he knew it would only be pretending, and that was worse.

He’d dug himself into a hole, and he didn’t know how to get out.

He had the feeling Tifa didn’t know how, either.

……………………….

He left Edge at first light.

Morning afters were always awkward. He walked Fenrir far enough away from the garage so Tifa wouldn’t be awoken by the engine’s roar, and peeled out of Edge.

A quick call ahead confirmed a pickup from the Chocobo Farm to a customer in Costa Del Sol. Normally he didn’t take cross-continent jobs – the time and expense of the ferry across didn’t make them profitable - but it suited him to get away from the house for a week or so. That would be enough time for Tifa to come to terms with having her hopes dashed again. With a bit of luck, she’d be happy that he’d returned at all and wouldn’t bring it up again for at least a while.

Maybe it was running away, but Cloud was good at that. Besides, he had business on the West Continent to take care of.

Four days later, after delivering three new custom riding saddles and a bag of sylkis greens to their destination, Fenrir rumbled into Nibelheim.

The town hadn’t changed much since he last visited, and didn’t fail to make his skin prickle _this_ time, either. His gaze wandered to the somewhat off recreation of his childhood home, but he snapped it away again just as quickly.

_Gaia_ , it had been _years_ now, and he still saw the ghost of flames.

The town was empty – not even the exodus from Midgar could tempt new villagers to settle in its shell. He gunned the engine and sped through – the sooner he made it through the village to his destination, the better.

Not that the sight of the mansion treated him any better.

He sat on the bike long after he switched the ignition off, trying to work up the nerve to pass the rusty wrought iron gates. It had been easier before, wandering around in Zack’s persona with AVALANCHE at his back. He’d only returned once since, and the flashbacks he’d suffered made him none too eager to try again.

How by the Planet did _Vincent_ come here so regularly?

Gritting his teeth, he swung off the bike and strode through the entrance. His memories didn’t have that kind of hold on him anymore – they were unpleasant, and the source of occasional nightmares, but nothing to be _afraid_ of.

The interior actually looked cleaner than the last time they’d come through – someone had swept away the worst of the dust and debris, and some of the windows were almost clear enough to see through. It still carried that faint, sickly sweet scent, though. Mildew and mako and women’s perfume.

To put off heading down to the labs, he spent some time poking through the desks and bookcases of the upper level rooms. They’d found plenty of scattered reports about the experiments performed on him and Zack upstairs, after all – it was always possible there might be information on other test subjects.

Cloud hadn’t given up on the mystery just yet. Genesis might sooner skewer him than speak with him, but there were other ways to get his answers.

After two hours of searching, he’d gathered several folders with some promise. A quick skim revealed most referred to Sephiroth, with several on him and Zack, and one on Vincent – all of which he’d read before.

A remark on one of Zack’s reports caught his eye this time, though. About why the S-cells hadn’t integrated properly - something about the enhancements being incompatible with the transferral properties of SOLDIERs produced under the Project G method.

Project G. Something about it struck him as familiar.

ShinRa had a habit of naming projects and specimens by their first initials. Could Project G be Genesis?

Was Genesis like him?

Or was Genesis like _Sephiroth_?

Regardless, it gave him a starting point.

Done with the mansion proper, he headed for the laboratory entrance. He spent a long minute quietly staring at the ladder leading to the darkness below, before ignoring it altogether and jumping straight down.

Like killing a dragon. Best to behead it in one strike.

His knees bent as he landed – the thud of his impact gave off a wet echo in the dank underground cavern. The lamps flickered and sputtered erratically, providing weak circles of light to punctuate the endless darkness. Odd. Someone had left the power on.

His feet felt heavier than adamantoises, but he pushed on to the library anyway. No sahagins slithered from the shadows to harass him, which struck him as strange, but he was too grateful for the lack of delay to care overmuch.

The short, brown-haired girl with mako eyes sitting in the library, however, explained everything.

“Cloud Strife,” the girl said in her usual flat tone, glancing up from the array of computer monitors spread before her.

“Shelke,” he replied dumbly.

He could see what Genesis meant about the difference in mako glow now, looking at a former Tsviet. The unusual brightness, visible even under direct light. The subtle pulse in intensity.

Genesis’s eyes hadn’t been like that – they were like his own. A natural, steady luminance.

“Is Vincent around?” The two were rarely apart since reuniting after the Omega incident. That could be a problem. The former Turk would ferret out any secrets Cloud held immediately.

“No. He remains in Midgar to assist Reeve in the search for the clone.”

He nodded to himself. That made sense. Reeve’s people, along with the Turks, were still searching Midgar every day. Even on the _Shera Mark II_ , Cid’s fastest airship yet, the journey to Nibelheim took almost twelve hours one way.

Still… “He left you here by yourself?”

Shelke’s answering expression was faintly amused. “I may look like this, but I am twenty years old, Cloud Strife. I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Right. It was easy to forget when Shelke didn’t look much older than Denzel. “You could have come with him, you know. You still have a room at Seventh Heaven.” She’d lived with them for a time, until Vincent had resurfaced and she’d opted to join him instead.

“The mako treatments are more convenient here,” was her mild reply. “And I thought it wise to avoid Edge for a time. I’m sure you understand.”

It took him a minute to catch on, and when he did he wished he hadn’t. Of course. In many ways, the solitude of Nibelheim was probably the safest for Shelke.

After an awkward silence, he asked, “How have you been?”

“I am well.” The words had a slightly recited quality, though not as overt as when she’d first left Deep Ground. “What brings you here, Cloud Strife?”

He paused, sorting out an answer that wouldn’t give too much away. Fortunately, Shelke had spades of patience – she’d likely wait there an hour until he sorted his thought processes out. “…I thought I might be able to find a clue about the clone here.”

“I see. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Was it worth the risk of it getting back to Vincent? Shelke, with her synaptic net diving capabilities, would be a guaranteed source of quick and reliable information on Genesis Rhapsodos.

He didn’t necessarily need to ask directly. “I want to know about Project G.”

……………………

No Turks came to the theatre.

No helicopters. No troopers. Not even one of those motorized drones.

Genesis Rhapsodos _hated_ being wrong.

The wind ruffled his black feathers, scattering loose quills among the grey, low-hanging clouds. A cool mist chilled his face, and soon droplets of water would be clinging to the tips of his hair and running down his neck and soaking into the leather of his coat.

They hadn’t come yet. They wouldn’t come in the rain.

He swooped down, alighting softly outside the entrance to the theatre. The door shut with an echo behind him as water began to drum the roof. After years of practice, it took scarcely a moment to coax the dark wing into his back again. While the grace of the Goddess may have cured degradation and the damage it wrought on his body, that one mutation remained stubbornly in place.

At least it was useful.

He mounted the steps to the stage and spent a moment in quiet reverence before the torn red curtain.

The mystery of Cloud Strife deepened the more he thought about it. Was he working with ShinRa or not? Was this an elaborate ruse to lure him out? To lull him into a false sense of security?

_Logically_ , the smart thing to do would be to find Cloud Strife again and put an end to the matter by killing him. He posed a security threat Genesis couldn’t afford. There was no personal connection, no reason to keep him alive beyond simple curiosity.

It would be fun, too. His swordplay had grown rusty, and the man had already proven he would pose an entertaining challenge.

So why did he hesitate?

He began to pace back and forth on the stage – each step echoing in the oppressive silence of the auditorium.

What happened while he was sleeping in the Deep Ground? He’d gathered snatches of the story from various sources, but dared not wander too far into a more populated area and expose his ignorance. He could guess some of what had happened with the Tsviets, of course – Weiss and Nero had been quite explicit regarding their intentions - but there was a four year gap between his waking and his meeting with Zack Fair at Banora. Where did Cloud Strife fit into it? Not Tsviet, not SOLDIER – at least, not that he could remember. It was always possible he’d been one of those rare SOLDIERs who hid behind those atrocious helmets, but the longer he thought about it, the more certain Genesis became that he _too_ had seen that man before.

It was maddening.

The only thing he hated more than being wrong was _being ignorant_.

With a restless sigh, Genesis ceased his pacing, and slipped behind the curtain to move backstage. Like the rest of the theatre, this area had survived mostly intact, though a good portion of the furniture had been looted and several doors kicked in.

He didn’t bother knocking on the dressing room door, twisting the handle and pushing it back with a bang.

The room remained, as expected, empty. The bed, undisturbed.

Cloud Strife wasn’t the only problem on his hands. But it was one he knew where to begin with.

“Understanding,” he declared to the emptiness. His face twisted into a smirk.

It would, at least, be entertaining.

 

 


	5. Chapter 4

 

 

Five days later the blond SOLDIER walked into the church, and Genesis was waiting.

“It seems I misjudged you, Cloud Strife.”

He would give the man credit – he scarcely reacted to his call. Genesis lounged on the wooden beam serving as his vantage point. It forced Cloud to look up at him, squinting against the afternoon sun pouring through the hole in the church roof.

“Lovely place you have here,” he offered, dangling a foot over the empty space. Green vines and white flowers crawled over the altar, the pews, every available patch of floor - save for the small pond of unbelievably clear water sparkling in the centre. The air was sweet with the syrupy scent of freshly bloomed blossoms and wet earth. A regular little slice of paradise in dead, barren Midgar.

“How did you find it?” Cloud asked, already in stance to draw his sword.

Genesis scoffed. “It wasn’t particularly difficult. I could hear that bike of yours half a sector away.”

He didn’t relax. Another point in his favour. If Cloud were as nervous about Genesis’s existence as Genesis was about _his_ , perhaps they could do business after all.

He swung down to the ground, scattering flowers with his landing, their sweet fragrance enveloping him in a perfumed cloud of pollen. Cloud took a step back, fingers on his sword, but didn’t yet draw.

“At ease, SOLDIER. I said that I would kill you if you came back looking for _me_. I’ve come here looking for _you_.”

The distinction appeared to be of little comfort. If anything, the man’s expression only grew warier.

Genesis toed a flower. The soft white petals folded under his touch. “You and I need to talk, Cloud Strife.”

“What about?”

“About what you want, and why I should trust you.”

“What if I lied?”

Cautious individual. Genesis smirked. “You think you can lie to me? I’ve come to the conclusion that I was vastly overestimating your acting skills in our previous meetings.”

“Acting skills, huh?” The words obviously weren’t meant for him and sounded strangely bitter.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Care to prove me wrong?”

To his surprise, Cloud gave a sad little smile, and then straightened, somehow seeming to swell, becoming _taller_. The transformation in his demeanour was as natural as it was startling. And then, louder than he’d raised his voice even when they’d been fighting - “My name is Cloud Strife. SOLDIER, First Class.”

The face was different. The name wrong. The accent too soft and round. But that tilt of the head, that pose, that confidence, the easy cadence of those words – _Genesis recognised it_.

He seized the blond by the shirt and near shook him. “ _You knew Zack Fair_?”

The act slipped away as quickly as it had been put on, and Cloud broke his hold, expression shuttered. Wordlessly, he pointed past him towards the altar, where the flowers grew especially thick.

Genesis’s breath caught in his throat.

He’d overlooked the metal monument hidden amidst all the greenery. From above, it didn’t look much like anything. But from the ground…

_The Buster Sword_.

With that link, all the other pieces fell into place. _Now_ he knew where he'd seen that head of spiky blond hair. He possessed some dim memory of cradling this limp, unresponsive body in his arms - of vacant, glowing eyes as he taunted his best friend’s former student. "You were Hojo's other experiment. Specimen C."

“ _Cloud Strife_.” The words were as firm as one could get without shouting. Genesis distractedly nodded his agreement – he himself held no love for being labelled a specimen.

His thoughts raced as though in battle. This was a scenario he’d never imagined. How very serendipitous, that they would meet again after so long. His heart ached with nostalgia, and familiar words tumbled from his lips. Only _Loveless_ could truly capture the gravity of such a circumstance – that _anything_ of his cherished childhood friend remained… “ _He is guided by hope that the gift will bring bliss  
And the oath that he swore to his friends._ ”

Cloud gave him an odd look, the question visible in his eyes. Genesis sighed – the solemnity of the moment broken. “You mean to tell me that even after attending the play, you cannot recognise it?”

“Not enough to quote it from memory,” he muttered.

Genesis folded his arms with a huff. “I am surrounded by philistines. That was disgraceful, by the way, trying to leave in the middle of the performance like that.”

Cloud didn’t even try to defend himself. “Why did you run off after?”

Was he really so naïve? “Come now. I have been in hiding for the better part of a decade. Why do you think?”

“I said before. ShinRa’s not a problem anymore. They’re not out here looking for you. They don’t even know you’re still alive.”

Genesis studied him. Cloud met his gaze unflinchingly. “You truly didn’t tell them. Why?”

He received only a shrug in response.

No matter, for now – it was unimportant, and it suited him to be overlooked by ShinRa. He gestured vaguely towards the ruins outside. “Even if _you’d_ kept your silence, there was a chance someone else might recognise me and tip them off if I lingered. It may be over ten years since my _official_ death, but within Midgar at least, I had plenty of fans. SOLDIERs First Class, even those of us who were not _Sephiroth-_ ” his lip curled on the name. “-were regularly paraded in front of the press to promote recruitment and improve public relations. As I understand it, there were even _newsletters_.” His quest for recognition so many years ago now worked against him.

Which made attending a _Loveless_ performance in particular a risk, considering some of his most ardent fans once formed a study group dedicated primarily to the play – one of their more noble pursuits. Yet in his opinion, the risk had been worth it. Genesis had not been to a theatre production in near a decade.

What was the point of a second chance at life, if you didn’t truly live it?

Cloud looked pensive. “I think… I remember.” His voice was so soft it barely stirred the air. He kept muttering to himself, but Genesis picked up the words ‘Red Leather’ and ‘Silver Elite’, which indicated he was on the right track. Just as well. He wasn’t in the mood to educate some recovering mako addict on SOLDIER history.

At least the mako addiction explained why the blond struggled to remember him. It also assured him Cloud truly held no love for ShinRa. Fellow escaped specimens were reliable that way.

“You seem to have made a remarkable recovery, considering,” he mused, inspecting him critically. The case had been severe – he recalled that much. Cloud Strife had been little more than a vegetable, a glassy-eyed dead weight. Genesis had briefly considered killing him to put the poor thing out of his misery. Serendipity, perhaps, that he hadn’t.

Cloud didn’t have any comment on that.

“And Zack Fair,” he said. “What happened to him?”

Cloud’s gaze grew dark, and he looked away. Dread curled down Genesis’s spine.

He’d suspected, of course. Zack, like any SOLDIER, would never have left his sword behind.

“ShinRa,” was all Cloud offered.

It said everything.

It had been too long for him to feel any sort of real grief over the news, but regardless, Zack Fair had been important to him. The last human connection with Angeal, the SOLDIER who had fought him and shown him the path to restoring his honour…

“He was a fine example of a SOLDIER,” Genesis murmured.

Cloud nodded, gaze distant. They stood in silence for thirty long seconds. It appeared they had more in common than they thought.

“So, Cloud Strife,” he finally said, “how does this work?”

He received only a frown in response. Impatient, Genesis extrapolated, “You claim you seek ‘understanding’. Under certain conditions, I would not be adverse to an… information exchange, but _you_ have not even specified what precisely it is you wish to _understand_.”

It took a long time for the man to respond – so long that Genesis began to think he wouldn’t get a reply. And when he did, his response was vague enough to almost be infuriating. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Then why bother in the first place?” Genesis made no effort to soften his caustic tone. “And for that matter…” His eyes narrowed. “I’m willing to believe you have nothing to do with ShinRa. But that fails to explain the Turks. If not _me_ , what are they searching for?”

The jump in tension was so sharp the air seemed to crackle.

“…There was a clone sighting,” Cloud eventually replied, shoulders hunched.

It was testament to _his_ acting skills that Genesis managed to conceal his surprise. “Copies?” Surely any remaining had degraded beyond recognition by now.

Cloud gave him a confused look. “What? Oh. No. Not one of yours.”

Then _whose_? Surely not any of Angeal’s.

Could it be… Hojo had tried making _other_ Sephiroth clones aside from Zack Fair and Cloud Strife?

Another long minute of silence stretched between them – Genesis unwilling to ask more and reveal his ignorance, and Cloud unwilling to share.

Until abruptly, a high-pitched buzz shattered the stalemate.

Cloud made no move to answer – instead waiting until the phone rang out before removing it from his pocket and flipping it open. He held Genesis’s gaze as he thumbed the number pad, breaking it only to grimace when a tinny, illegible voice murmured through the speaker.

Genesis waited with what he thought to be sterling patience as the blond snapped the sleek black phone shut and sighed. “I have to get back.”

“Trouble at home?” he mocked.

Cloud didn’t rise to the bait. His curiosity, it appeared, would go unsatisfied. “What are you going to do now?”

He gave a careless shrug in reply. “The same as always, I expect.” Surveying the other man imperiously, he added, “I _suppose_ , if you are so inclined, you may seek me out again so we can conclude this… transaction.” Injecting a touch of threat to his tone, he continued, “Obviously, I expect you to keep this and any further encounters to yourself, else you can consider _any_ kind of deal null and void.”

Cloud nodded and stared at the gleaming Buster Sword, avoiding meeting his eyes. “How long do you plan to keep hiding?”

Genesis smirked and turned on his heel. As he walked away, he turned and called over his shoulder, “I think the question you should be asking, Cloud Strife, is how long you think you can survive _without_ hiding.”

He left Zack Fair’s legacy standing there among the flowers, phone still cradled in his hand.

_“Dreams of the morrow hath shattered soul_  
Pride is Lost.  
Wings stripped away, the end is nigh  
Such is... the fate of a monster.”

………………………………

As usual, Cloud parked Fenrir in the garage behind the bar.

That had been… unexpected. After the last two encounters, he never imagined Genesis would seek _him_ out. Or that such a meeting would end without swordplay and a significant amount of fire.

His heart felt strangely light. There was still a lot he didn’t know, but that Genesis was someone who knew Zack before Nibelheim, someone who _truly_ knew him and respected him… He might have overcome his guilt, but he hadn’t realised how _liberating_ it felt to share his grief, for that one moment, with someone for whom the loss wasn’t abstract.

He only wished he could have stayed longer. Despite months of believing otherwise, he’d never really spoken to any SOLDIER other than Zack – unless you counted Sephiroth, but that could hardly be called _conversation_ so much as a vitriolic mix of threats and taunts and lies. But at least Genesis had come around and agreed to meet with him again later.

What to ask, he didn’t yet know. Between the information Shelke had provided and their meeting today, he’d finally solved at least part of the mystery regarding his memories. Maybe something about Zack, or SOLDIER, or – he shuddered – the wing. He _should_ have asked about the clone, but Genesis’s confusion when he’d brought it up made him wonder if he’d misinterpreted the evidence there, and he hadn’t wanted to risk upsetting the tenuous truce. Diplomacy wasn’t one of Cloud’s strong points, but keeping his mouth shut _was_.

The keys jingled as he removed them from the ignition. At the very least, he’d confirmed Genesis wasn’t interested in anything other than hiding from ShinRa. It alleviated his guilt at keeping his discovery a secret. The clone was a separate problem, but one he’d already washed his hands of. A Tsviet might have been a problem, but a single Sephiroth clone – if that _was_ what they were dealing with – bore little threat without Jenova remains.

He walked around to the front of the bar. Quiet again, but that was normal for the middle of the week. A larger group of teenagers loitered across the road this time, openly eyeing him.

His good mood vanished like a spectre under fire.

It didn’t matter that he wore sunglasses. They knew what he looked like now.

Cloud ignored them, walking past Seventh Heaven’s entrance and further down the street. No need to bring trouble home.

The shuffle of footsteps followed him, though no taunts reached his ears. They were waiting until they were in a more deserted area where no one would interfere, then.

Cloud let them follow for three blocks, then abruptly turned the corner and broke into a dash, heading several buildings down before leaping up onto a roof.

The group came running around the corner after him, and stumbled to a stop when they saw he’d vanished. With furious whispers they scattered, searching the alleyways and nearest side streets for him.

Cloud watched for a moment longer, then left and made his way back towards Seventh Heaven across the rooftops. People never thought to look up.

Idiots. Did they really think numbers would make a difference against someone mako-enhanced?

They didn’t even bring _guns_.

“Cloud?” Tifa poked her head into the service hallway at the sound of the door, dishrag still clutched in her hands. She must have been cleaning up. “Why did you come in through the back?”

“Have you shut for today?” The bar was empty, but the lights were still on.

“Just closing up now.”

He nodded, and stalked over to the front door, locking it. Just in case. Tifa could handle herself, but there were the kids to think about too. No point in getting anyone else caught up in it. He checked the window, but the street was empty.

“Did something happen?” Tifa’s voice held that worried note again.

He didn’t answer. “Marlene and Denzel?”

“Upstairs. I was about to start making dinner.” Her gaze on his back felt heavier than a Buster Sword. “Was it those kids outside again?”

“Nothing happened,” he said, and headed upstairs.

“Cloud!” Tifa tossed the dishrag on the counter and hurried after him. “This is important! If they’re giving you trouble we should talk about it!”

At times like this, his relationship with Tifa felt a lot like being married, with none of the perks.

Cloud didn’t want to discuss it. “Why did you call me back?” he asked.

She hesitated. “It’s… It can wait. Don’t worry about it.” He stared at her. “It was just a delivery request. I wrote it down for you.” She gave him a small smile and pointed towards his office.

Cloud didn’t believe her. It sounded important – he wouldn’t have left Genesis behind without talking more, otherwise. If it had just been about a delivery, Tifa would have left the information in the message.

“Why don’t you go say hi to the kids. I’ll go organise that dinner.” She gave him a soft smile, and hesitantly, a kiss on the cheek.

He stood silently in the hallway for a long moment, listening to her footsteps disappear down the stairs, before following the quiet murmuring of children’s voices to Marlene’s room.

“Cloud!” Denzel scrambled to his feet, grinning.

“Hey,” he greeted.

Marlene’s face lit up and she all but fly-tackled him into a hug. “I didn’t think you’d be back today!”

Confused, he glanced at Denzel. The warm welcome felt nice, but neither Marlene nor Denzel got particularly upset when he disappeared anymore. They were both mature enough now not to take it personally.

“Tifa’s been a bit…” he whispered, shuffling in place and looking sheepish.

Then it made sense. Tifa’s anxieties invariably passed on to the kids. Much like their presence spared him any serious attempts at intimacy, _his_ presence provided a barrier to their foster mother’s tensions.

Guilt spiked through him at the thought. The reason Tifa was anxious was probably because of him.

“C’mon, Cloud!” Marlene tugged on his shirt, dragging him over to the table. “Denzel and I drew a picture! Come see!”

“What? Marlene, don’t-” Denzel started to protest.

Cloud gave him a small smile. “It’s nice of you to play along with her.”

Denzel stared at his shoes, a pleased grin creeping onto his face.

“Here it is!” Marlene proudly thrust the picture at him.

Cloud stilled.

It was them. Him, Tifa, Marlene, Denzel, Barret, and Red XIII apparently filling the role as the family pet. Denzel’s hand was obvious – he’d drawn in a rather well rendered Fenrir, and if the detail and shading were anything to go by, First Tsurugi and Barret’s gun arm as well. The rest was done in the typical child’s scrawl, though Marlene had progressed beyond stick figures and now coloured inside the lines.

The part that bothered him was the eyes.

Everyone else had a pair of black dots. His were two blue, empty circles.

“It’s great,” he said, managing a small smile for their sake. Marlene beamed at him; Denzel just looked embarrassed.

Marlene didn’t mean anything by it. If anyone else in the picture had blue eyes, they probably would have been drawn the same way – it didn’t necessarily allude to their mako glow. He was simply feeling sensitive because of the business earlier.

How did Vincent deal with it? How did Shelke, or Red XIII? The constant reminders that they weren’t human, that they didn’t quite belong with everyone else. No matter how much they played at it, they would never be normal, or have normal lives and normal loves and normal worries.

_“I think the question you should be asking, Cloud Strife, is how long you think you can survive_ without _hiding.”_

“Let’s go downstairs,” he said, “Tifa’s making dinner.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 5

 

 

The TV droned in the reception lounge, static occasionally flicking across the screen from a poor signal. The television itself looked old, a bulky design from the early ShinRa days, and the sound carried a slight fuzz from burned out speakers. It was running the news channel, one of those ‘word on the streets of Edge’ segments.

_"I knew something like this would happen again. I haven't felt safe since last year,"_ an elderly woman complained to the reporter. _"My daughter was gunned down by those monsters - they came from nowhere, in the middle of the night. They were like something out of a nightmare."_

“Sir?” The girl at the front desk asked him.

Cloud handed over his package and delivery receipt. The receptionist scrawled her signature without even looking up.

The newscaster was talking to what looked like a young mother now. _"Well, yeah, the WRO won last time. But why did it take so long? Why did they wait for the problem to surface? I– I have to be honest, I lose sleep wondering when something like that will happen again, and then I hear these stories..."_ She rubbed at the dark shadows hanging under her eyes.

Cloud checked his sunglasses and glanced around the office. The TV spoke only to a small audience of bored-looking men in construction blues – workers waiting for job interviews, most likely. There was a steady stream of people going past though, on their way through or lining up impatiently behind him to register their appointments with the front desk. The WRO headquarters were, as always, a hive of activity.

The journalist on the TV had moved into a shooting range – one of Neo-ShinRa’s training grounds, by the looks of it. A middle-aged man in flannels took aim and shot at one of the targets, hitting a little left of centre. _"I've been learning to shoot, to protect my family,"_ the gunman explained in the next shot _. "But there's not much an ordinary guy can do against a threat like that. Bullets only slow those guys down."_

“Cloud.” Cloud jerked at the familiar voice. Vincent? Sure enough, a moment later the ex-Turk moved into his peripheral vision. Despite the fact he wore a scarlet cloak and a golden gauntlet, he managed to look perfectly at home in the office, and hardly anyone spared him a second glance. “Are you here to see Reeve?”

He collected the signed clipboard and held it up. “Delivery.” If he got through his quota quickly enough, he’d have time to go see Genesis again. Time enough for Tifa not to miss him and ask questions. “Why are you here?” He headed back outside to Fenrir, Vincent keeping pace beside him.

“I thought that would be obvious.”

For one second, panic lanced through him. Had Shelke spoken to Vincent? Was he suspicious? But he’d only asked about Project G. Shelke didn’t have any particular reason to pass the information along, and even if she did it didn’t necessarily _mean_ anything.

Belatedly, he replied, “Not to me. Is something happening?” Shiva, he wasn’t a _terrible_ liar, but it felt _obvious_ in front of Vincent.

If Vincent suspected anything though, he didn’t show it. Merely explained, “Reeve’s stepping up the search.”

Cloud paused in the middle of stowing the delivery receipt. “They found something?” A new concern took hold - could someone have spotted Genesis leaving the Church?

“You didn’t hear?” When Cloud shook his head, he explained, “Elena’s dead.”

……………………

Vincent took him to see the body.

“They found her yesterday when she failed to call in.” Vincent’s crimson gaze was a heavy weight on his back. “Tifa didn’t tell you?”

Cloud shook his head mutely, staring at the corpse in the dim cold grey mortuary. Some effort had been made to clean her up, but it remained a gruesome sight – her head half caved in, her fine blond hair matted with blood, her rib cage crushed and misshapen. He’d seen worse in Hojo’s lab, but…

Turks were like cockroaches. It didn’t seem _possible_ any of them could die.

“Who else knows about this?” His thoughts were on the news program he’d just seen running. He was already slipping into battle mode, considering all of the angles so he didn’t have time to focus on the raw _horror_ of it, didn’t have time to pay attention to how the room smelled overpoweringly of dried blood and chemical compounds.

“It was one of the WRO’s squads that stumbled across her. Word got out before Reeve could act.”

Everyone, then. It was his worst fears realised. No wonder Tifa had hesitated to tell him. No wonder mobs were out looking for trouble.

“Fortunate you came when you did. They’re burying her this evening.” Where she would disappear into motes of green light, hidden from everyone’s eyes as she returned to the Planet.

His throat felt tight, as though he wanted to throw up but his body had forgotten how. It made a certain amount of sense that it had been Elena. She’d never quite escaped her rookie status, and despite impressive growth, remained the weakest fighter of the four. But it hadn’t been that long ago since he last saw her at the bar, alternating between shouting at Reno and trying her hardest to remain professional in front of Tseng. No one could have imagined this happening to her then. “What happened?”

“No one knows yet exactly. But the wounds....” Vincent trailed off, waving his gauntlet over the prone body.

He didn’t need to explain. Cloud knew on sight. No regular monster or human would inflict those kinds of injuries. This was the work of a SOLDIER.

He let out a breath. This was bad. Things were already tense. “The clone?”

“Neo-ShinRa’s issued a kill-on-sight order.”

No surprise there. “The Turks are going to be out for blood.”

Vincent didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

They left the mortuary attached to the WRO headquarters. It seemed painfully bright outside after the dull, muted lighting. Painfully loud, too, though the only sound was the distant rumble of trucks and an afternoon breeze rolling across the car park.

Neither spoke as Cloud shut the storage compartment and straddled his bike. Then Vincent said, “…Reeve tells me you quit the search.”

Cloud shrugged. Rather than try to lie to Vincent’s face about why, better not to say anything at all.

“If it truly is a clone, you know they’ll come after you eventually,” Vincent warned.

“If it really is a clone,” he replied, “I’ll sense them coming.” He turned the ignition. Fenrir growled to life.

“Cloud.”

He looked over. Vincent stared at him for a long moment, as though measuring his intentions by sight alone.

“…Be careful.”

Cloud gunned the engine, and Fenrir roared away.

……………………

The theatre doors burst open with a bang.

“Did you kill a Turk?”

Genesis emerged from behind the crimson curtain, his red coat seeming to spread from it like a growing puddle of blood. “I didn’t expect to see you again _this_ soon, Cloud Strife. Did you miss me so much?”

Cloud strode up the aisle to the stage. “This is serious. Did you kill a Turk?”

“Did one of ShinRa’s little lapdogs bite off more than they can chew?” he mocked. “Good riddance.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes. Genesis sighed, twisting his hand in a dismissive flick. “ _No_ , I did _not_ kill any Turks. You might recall that I have been _avoiding_ them…?”

Cloud relaxed, forcing his fingers to unclench from First Tsurugi’s hilt. It could have been a lie, of course, but Genesis hadn’t made secret his opinion towards ShinRa. If he’d been responsible, he would have _gloated_ about it. Even after only four meetings, Cloud could tell that much.

Genesis smirked, lounging on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the orchestra pit. “What would you have done if I _had_?” He leaned forward, eyes half-lidded, semi-circles of glowing mako in the dim theatre. “You’re being inconsistent, Cloud Strife. What happened to your claim of ‘having nothing to do with ShinRa’?”

“I don’t care about the Turks,” he said flatly. They were uneasy allies even after Meteor – though he felt bad for Elena and her comrades, maybe even a bit sick at what happened to her, the sympathy ended there. “But you know what’ll happen, right?”

“Why should it concern me?” Genesis retorted, his chin perched on the palm of his hand, entire pose one of calculated disinterest.

“They think a SOLDIER did it.”

His gaze sharpened. “The clone.”

Genesis was quick – every bit as intelligent as Shelke’s files reported him to be. Cloud didn’t bother confirming.

“ _When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end,  
The goddess descends from the sky._ ” The words bounced through the theatre, the echo of a play long over. “And so new monsters are born.”

“Do you know anything?” Cloud pressed. “If they catch the clone, then you don’t have anything to worry about.”

The SOLDIER’s expression flickered at that, but Cloud never had been very good at reading people and couldn’t tell what it meant. “You needn’t concern yourself over me,” he remarked. “I _am_ a SOLDIER First Class, and I’ve evaded ShinRa for years. Rather more effectively than _you_ , in fact.”

But ShinRa always caught up with you eventually. Shelke’s information on Project G might not have been complete, but it still chronicled Genesis’s capture and incorporation into DeepGround after some six years spent hiding.

They caught Gast, and then later Aeris. They caught Zack. They caught _him_.

Sometimes they managed to escape again. Yet even now there were days Cloud couldn’t quite shake the sensation of a noose fitted around his neck.

“Guess I shouldn’t have bothered,” he muttered and turned on his heel, irrationally annoyed.

“Leaving again so soon?” The words were idly curious.

He didn’t respond and kept walking. Genesis slid off the stage’s edge and followed him up the aisle. “I honestly don’t see what the problem is. Leave ShinRa business to ShinRa.”

Cloud couldn’t explain it. He didn’t quite understand it himself.

Genesis let out an annoyed huff, then said, “Very well then. What if we were to find the clone first?”

The sudden pronouncement stopped Cloud dead in his path. “What?”

The former SOLDIER shrugged, sweeping out a hand in a vaguely encompassing gesture. “Your point was a valid one. The sooner the clone is found and taken care of, the less risk of ShinRa’s searches stumbling upon my sanctuary.” He brushed past, continuing on to the exit, black wing spreading from his shoulder. “Besides, doesn’t it strike you as _unwise_ to let ShinRa get its hands on a Sephiroth clone?” The gloating tone of his voice implied more a private glee at the idea of getting one over the Turks than any sort of social responsibility.

Cloud searched for words, but they seemed stuck in his throat.

Genesis nodded, as though satisfied with himself. “We’ll meet by the church – no sense in drawing any more attention to this area than necessary.” He made an amused sound low in his throat. “And you can pursue your quest for ‘understanding’ as part of the exchange. We’ll have ample opportunity throughout the course of searching. A pair of hell hounds with the one spell,” he finished with a snap of his fingers.

Somehow, before he even realised what was happening, Cloud found himself steamrolled into clone hunting with Genesis. A clone hunt he’d told Vincent he’d given up not _hours_ before. His intentions had simply been to make sure Genesis wasn’t responsible, and then warn him to keep his head down until it all blew over. Apparently that had been stupid of him.

Maybe it was better this way, though. He could soothe his conscience by resuming the search, and by doing it off the grid he could still safely interact with Genesis and maybe even find a way to keep the clone from Neo-ShinRa’s hands. The Turks and WRO had difficulty searching the inner districts, after all. And if both he and Genesis were searching, then he wouldn’t have to resort to… riskier methods.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, Cloud wondered why Genesis even needed to _look_ for the clone, when the clone’s tracks he’d followed led straight to the theatre.

The question lingered on the tip of on his tongue, but in the end, indecision kept him silent. Their truce remained a fragile one, and while he believed Genesis hadn’t killed Elena, the incident served as a sharp reminder.

A reminder that no matter their connection through Zack, Cloud really didn’t know Genesis Rhapsodos at all.

 

 


	7. Chapter 6

 

 

“…And Heidegger?”

“Blew up with Scarlett on one of their war machines.”

Genesis made a sound somewhere between a snort and a cough. “Appropriate.”

They were sitting outside in the hazy sunlight, a short distance from the church. Cloud was checking Fenrir over for a rattle that had developed while they’d been traversing the ruins, looking for signs of the clone. Genesis perched on a metal beam nearby. The SOLDIER Commander, apparently having nothing better to do, had elected to keep him company and ‘guard him from monsters’ until he was done.

Cloud had rolled his eyes – as though _he_ needed guarding - but chose not to comment. As grating as the implied insult might have been, he found himself not minding the SOLDIER’s conversation. Maybe because Genesis didn’t appear to need his input all that much.

It was even enough to make him forget his misgivings, for a while. He still couldn’t reason out what Genesis was hiding in regards to the clone, or why. The former SOLDIER seemed genuinely interested in the search, but also seemed far too out of touch with modern events to have a hidden agenda. It didn’t make any _sense._

Cloud’s not-so-brilliant plan at this stage was to play dumb and see what he learned. So far, it had been nothing but out-dated gossip about ShinRa executives and reams of trivia about  _Loveless_. Like right now.

“A waste of space, the both of them,” Genesis declared. “And Heidegger couldn’t manage an army to save his life. The only reason ShinRa’s armed forces lasted as long as they did was because we had enough competent lieutenants to offset his ridiculous orders. And SOLDIER, of course. Moronic orders matter a great deal less when you have superior weapons.”

Cloud found a loose bolt and tightened it – the likely culprit. He started checking the surrounding components, giving each bolt a gentle wrench to make sure none others had been shaken loose.

Genesis kept going. “Really, the only reason the Wutai War was won at all was because nobody actually _listened_ to Heidegger on the ground. It was enough to drive a man to desertion.” He smirked at something he found amusing about that, and abruptly turned his focus back on Cloud. “And what about Sephiroth? You said he didn’t actually die in the Nibelheim Reactor.”

Cloud paused in his tinkering – maybe a moment too long. “He did. But he came back.”

“Yes, but _how_?” He tapped the edge of the metal beam with his fingers, impatient.

_That_ gave him pause.

How could Genesis have a connection with the clone, and not even know that much?

He explained briefly about the clones and Jenova, keeping a wary eye on the former SOLDIER’s reaction. With each revelation, Genesis looked in turn fascinated and revolted, until Cloud finished the tale, where he shook his head in disbelief.

“ _Such is... the fate of a monster_.” His lip upturned to a sneer. “He was such a hypocrite.”

Cloud kept quiet. It was probably better not to ask. One thing that had become clear within the first day of clone-hunting was just how much water under the bridge there had been between Genesis and Sephiroth. The tensions in their meetings were palpable enough without poking sleeping bombs.

Not that Genesis appeared to appreciate that. He seemed like the sort who would just as soon set the bombs _on fire_.

“So?” the former Commander prodded. “What happened to him then?”

Cloud shrugged, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Fenrir this time. “Like I told you before, AVALANCHE killed him. Then the Planet was free to stop Meteor.” He’d already shared the overall story behind Midgar’s destruction.

Genesis looked strangely unhappy about that, which also didn’t fit in with all the apparent water under the bridge with the General. But then, they’d all been top brass together, hadn’t they?

If he truly _did_ want to know about Genesis and how he fit into the greater scheme of things, maybe he’d have to poke the bomb after all. “Were you friends?”

The result was electric. “ _Friends_? With that _arrogant_ , _pompous-_ ” Genesis sputtered, rendered speechless with indignity. “The world is a better place without him,” he declared hotly.

Weird. Cloud remained silent, and added another mental note to the things he just didn’t get about Genesis. But then, who was he to question others’ twisted relationships with Sephiroth?

“I find it hard to believe, is all,” Genesis went on, waving a hand as though to clear away smoke. “I’d heard of AVALANCHE, of course, but they were little more than a nuisance back when I was still above surface. Oh, certainly they caused some of the _lower_ ranks some trouble, but if the _Turks_ could deal with them…” He made a dismissive gesture. “ _Zack Fair_ defeating him I could understand. But if Sephiroth died as you say he did… that any mere _civilians_ could kill him is frankly surprising.”

It took Cloud a minute to realise Genesis was talking about Nibelheim. He thought _Zack_ had…

It was only right. Zack had done all the _real_ fighting. Cloud had landed one lucky hit when the General’s back was turned, and all he’d really managed after that was to get skewered.

He dusted off his knees and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life, the rumble now a steady purr. “That’s all for now,” he said. Discussing Sephiroth could sour his mood faster than anything else.

Genesis crossed his arms with a huff – clearly matters of Sephiroth put him in a similar disposition. _His_ fault for bringing it up in the first place. “You don’t have any questions for _me_? In your quest for ‘understanding’?”

“Not today.” He gunned the engine, and Fenrir peeled away.

…………………..

“Cloud,” Reno rasped.

Cloud paused warily, barely three steps through the door.

The bar was quiet – it was a work night, so the usual crowd were already long gone and only a few off-duty WRO personnel were left, nursing their beers in a secluded corner. Tifa wasn’t immediately in sight, which meant she’d either disappeared upstairs to check on the kids or she’d stepped into the back for a moment.

The redhead staggered to his feet. “Oi,” he slurred. “You. You get your broody ass over here. We gotta talk, yo.”

Cloud frowned. Orders weren’t something he reacted well with, especially not orders from the _Turks_. But at the same time, he didn’t want to cause a scene. His fingers touched the edge of his sunglasses briefly, checking they were still there.

In the end, he moved over to the Turk’s table, but remained standing. Rude and Tseng were there, too – Rude staring into the bottom of his glass as though it held all the answers of the universe, and Tseng thumbing through messages on his phone, though he stopped when Cloud arrived. He didn’t say anything, however.

The dark bags under his eyes said enough.

“What do you want?” Cloud asked abruptly.

“I want to know what the _hell_ you’re playing at,” Reno accused, his jabbing finger wavering as though every jerk put him off balance. “We gotta find this bastard that killed Elena and lay him flat, yo. Why the hell did you suddenly stop searching?”

The redhead was unquestionably drunk. The stench of alcohol rolled off him in waves, and there was a glassy tint to his eyes that made him look downright crazy right then.

“I have other things to do. I can’t just drop everything to go on a wild cactuar chase for weeks on end,” was his curt response. They couldn’t know he was still looking – then they’d be calling in to find out his progress, and keeping track of his movements, and he wouldn’t be able to risk meeting with Genesis.

“Is it monetary compensation you need?” Tseng asked. “If you’re concerned with your delivery business suffering, Neo-ShinRa can repay you for your time.”

How many times were they going to try to get him on their payroll? Rufus could offer him a million gil a _month_ and he still wouldn’t take it. “Not interested.”

Reno made a sound that could have been a snarl. “Is there anything that can convince you?” Tseng asked.

“Why does it matter so much?” Cloud grumbled. “You’ve got the WRO helping.”

“It’s difficult for us, even with the chopper. We simply cannot cover the inner regions of Midgar as easily as a SOLDIER.”

“I was never in SOLDIER.”

“Stop being so damn difficult!” Reno growled. “You know what he means!”

“The monsters aren’t anything we can’t deal with,” Tseng continued mildly. “The terrain, however, proves more of a challenge. And there is still a significant level of mako in the air. For an unenhanced individual to remain for more than a few hours…”

“I can’t find the clone for you. If I could, I would have found it back when I was still looking.” Not the whole truth, but hopefully enough to get them off his back. He spied Tifa coming down the stairs, and took it as an excuse to make his escape. “We’re done here.”

Reno swore a blue streak at him, but Cloud ignored him, making a beeline for the stairs.

It was sad to see the Turks like that – like a limb had been cut from their body. Maybe they _had_ changed, somehow – he couldn’t remember them being that bothered when any of the other Turks died, back before Meteor.

“Cloud?” Tifa paused behind the counter, and sent a pointed look at the clock on the wall. “You’re back late.” The _again_ hung unspoken in the air.

“Sorry,” was all he said in response, and drifted past to head upstairs.

He didn’t relax until the door to his room – his office, really – closed behind him, cloaking him in comforting darkness. Finally he took off the sunglasses, folded them in his hand, and placed them carefully on his desk. He didn’t bother with the lamp. The moonlight seeping through the blinds was enough.

Cloud wondered how despite his best efforts to hold on to his identity and freedom, he had somehow still managed to lose control of his life.

All he’d wanted was to know more about the mystery SOLDIER he’d met at the _Loveless_ performance. But now he was keeping secrets, everyone was on his case about this elusive clone, Tifa kept giving him those searching looks, Rufus wouldn’t stop trying to recruit him, and he _still_ didn’t know what he wanted even though he had _found_ his mystery SOLDIER.

Too many questions. Too many mysteries. Too many things he didn’t understand. And he didn’t have an answer for any of them.

…………………..

The bar was quiet - Marlene and Denzel were at one of the WRO’s newly opened schools. Cloud was, as always, off to who-knew-where, and Seventh Heaven had been closed for the afternoon.

Tifa retreated to her bedroom. Like Cloud’s it doubled as an office, where she would make phone calls and manage the bar’s invoices and keep track of all the paperwork. She fussed about with her papers for a few minutes, not really achieving anything, before she sighed, and found her gaze wandering to the phone.

She picked it up off the cradle, and toyed with it for a long moment. Should she call? Wasn’t it kind of overreacting? But if she didn’t talk to _somebody_ …

Holding her breath, she dialled.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. She nearly hung up on the fourth, convinced she was being stupid, but as her finger reached for the cradle there was a click from the other end.

_“Hello?”_ The signal was full of crackle, but the voice unmistakeable.

“Hi Yuffie, it’s Tifa.” Yuffie was hardly anyone’s first choice for this kind of thing, but who else could she talk to? Cid? _Barret_?

_“Gawd, Tifa, it’s like, the middle of the night here!”_

She eyeballed the clock. “Isn’t it 9am over there?”

_“Whatever!”_ The massive yawn that followed was enough to make even _Tifa_ feel tired. “ _What is it? Is it materia? It’s materia right? You found some materia.”_ The prospect was apparently enough to wake her up.

“It’s not- It’s Cloud,” she admitted.

_“Shoulda guessed. What’s the spiky-haired bozo done now?”_

“I’m sorry,” she apologised. “It’s just… he’s been acting a little strange, the past few weeks. I wanted to talk to someone about it.”

_“Just a few weeks?”_

“Yuffie!”

_“I know, I know, I’m sorry, geez!”_ Another yawn. _“So what’s the problem?”_

“He’s been away a lot. I mean, I know he has his delivery business, but…” She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “He gets home so _late_ every night. And he won’t talk to me about anything!” she burst out. “It feels like he’s hiding something.”

_“Maybe he’s cheating on you,”_   Yuffie quipped.

“Yuffie!”

_“Owww, okay! Not so looooud.”_

“What- Have you been drinking?” she demanded.

_“So what if I was?! I’m old enough!”_

Right. She was. It was easy to forget – for all she’d matured, Yuffie still seemed sixteen in her eyes. And she _was_ the Princess of Wutai – who was going to tell her no?

That didn’t mean Tifa would _ever_ agree to serve her in Seventh Heaven. If Yuffie were going to get drunk, better for everyone that she did it half a world away.

_“So he’s not talking and he’s coming home late. Riiiight. And this is a problem why?”_

Tifa sat on the edge of the bed, unhappy. "It…” She fished for the right words, but there didn’t seem to be any. Tears prickled behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. “It feels like he's drifting away from us again."

She hated it. Everything was going backwards. For a little while - that window after Geostigma, and before the Deep Ground uprising - it had been like old times again. Everyone working together. None of this _distance_ , physical or otherwise. She’d hoped…

Yuffie was quiet for a long moment. Tifa had begun to suspect she’d fallen back asleep when she said, _"But it's been kinda tough for him, yeah? After DeepGround..."_

“But that doesn’t affect _Cloud_ ,” she argued. “He’s a hero!”

Yuffie grumbled something under her breath that got lost in the crackle and hiss of long-distance interference. _“So why are you talking to_ me _about it then? Bring it up with_ him _! Gawd!”_

Maybe Yuffie had been a mistake. She could have tried Shera instead – if anyone had a hope of understanding her, it would be Shera. “I don’t want to drive him even further away! It’s like every time I try he withdraws even more!” Her fist clenched in frustration. She would have driven it into the desk if it weren’t for the very real chance she might break the desk in the process. She may have been out of practice, but her knuckles were still tough enough for that.

Consciously, she relaxed her fingers and took a deep breath. Yuffie had pulled away to mutter at someone in the background – a royal retainer, by the sounds of it. After a moment, she came clear again with a huff. _“You know the big dummy best, right? Just kick him upside the head or something! Or I’ll get Cid to fly me over to do it for you! Heck, he’d probably help!”_

Tifa sighed. “Thanks, Yuffie. But I’m probably just overreacting. Don’t worry about it. I guess I just wanted to vent.”

_“Go kick something. It always helps me,”_ Yuffie offered.

“Right. Thanks. I’ll call again soon.” Tifa hung up, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. All she’d really managed in the end was to shift some of her exasperation with Cloud on to Yuffie.

She curled her hands back into fists again, eyeing her knuckles, slightly misshapen from the abuse they’d suffered over years of training. They were the least feminine thing about her – her nails cut as short as possible, and her skin dry and papery from too much soap and detergent. The calluses were fading at least, but were just as surely being replaced with new ones from working the taps and cleaning the bar.

It was so easy to forget that strength they had when they fought for the Planet.

But Cloud hadn't forgotten. Neither had Vincent. What was the difference? Why couldn't _they_ let go of the past, and move on?

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 7

 

 

Things settled into a strange new routine. Cloud would meet Genesis nearly every second day. The former Commander normally loitered in or near the Church. On one occasion, Cloud walked in on him fussing over Zack’s sword, and realised why it seemed so much shinier recently.

The whole affair had gained a sheer of unreality. When Cloud left Edge, it was as though he stepped into another world, where time didn’t matter beyond the rise and fall of the sun. They searched for the clone, but it felt more like a monster patrol, and despite the seriousness of the situation it was difficult to feel any urgency about it. They would prowl Midgar until the shadows grew long – one from the sky, the other from the ground.

Part of the odd sense of disconnect was probably due to Genesis – he was so cut off from the rest of society, and so utterly unconcerned by his solitude, that the attitude inevitably rubbed off on to Cloud. He suspected it was unhealthy, but in many ways, the escape was appreciated. For a while, he could leave the whispers and glares and crushing sense of responsibility behind.

As for the mysterious clone...

Vincent dredged up another witness account that led nowhere. Cid was in the bar every third day, grumbling about being used as a taxi service. And everyone else wouldn’t leave him alone about it.

His phone buzzed for the fourth time that morning. With a sigh, Cloud flipped it open, thumbing through the latest voice messages.

_“Cloud, it’s Reeve. I really think you ought to reconsider. We need all hands on deck, if a civilian-”_

He hung up, skipping to the next recording.

_“Hey, Cloud_.” Reno again. His voice came through a lot thicker these days. _“What the hell are you playin’ at, yo? Don’t go pretending this ain’t your problem. We need to find this fucker and-”_

He cut that one off, too.

_“Strife.”_ Tseng. He, on the other hand, didn’t sound any different at all – if Cloud hadn’t seen the deep bags under his eyes the last time the Turks were at the bar, he might have thought Elena’s death didn’t bother him at all. _“I understand you’re a busy man. I’d like to make it clear that Neo-ShinRa are still offering monetary compensation for help with the search, to make up for any losses from your delivery services.”_

He very nearly hung up there as well – he _was_ searching, just not with them - but as his finger caressed the button, Tseng added, _“At the very least, please contact us for backup if you come across the clone by chance. There’s a high risk they will target you.”_

Nothing he didn’t already know. In this instance, though, he wondered if maybe they were all fishing in the wrong pond. He’d been all over Midgar, and aside from that one chance encounter, had seen nothing since. He’d even started to doubt the clone’s connection to Genesis – though the tracks led to the former SOLDIER’s hideout, Genesis appeared largely clueless on the matter of Sephiroth clones. Nothing added up right.

The message bank ticked over. _“Cloud_.” Tifa again. _“Are you going to be home early tonight? Barret’s back in town for a couple of days, he’s taking Marlene and Denzel to the movies. It’s an old rerun, but Marlene won’t have seen it before.”_ In the awkward pause, he could hear her shifting in place. _“I thought it would be nice if… well, I’ll see you when you get home.”_

He closed his eyes, turned off the phone, and quietly resolved to be home late.

Maybe it was avoiding the issue, but he didn’t know how to deal with it anymore. It was so much easier to spend his time and energy chasing ghosts of clones.

As Cloud tucked his phone back away, a flutter of feathers heralded Genesis’s arrival. “You’re here early,” the SOLDIER grumbled, shaking his wing out in a gesture that looked remarkably like an unhappy bird being roused from its slumber.

He shrugged. Genesis, it turned out, wasn’t a morning person. Cloud simply didn’t sleep much either way.

“Have there been any further developments?” the former Commander drawled.

“No. I want to check around ShinRa Headquarters again today.” They’d been back there twice before. Midgar was a big city, and rather than fruitlessly comb it street by ruined street, it made more sense to keep an eye on places where the clone had been spotted previously.

Genesis huffed, but thankfully didn’t argue. He _did_ , however, remark, “I am beginning to wonder about the validity of these so-called ‘sightings’. This is turning out to be a waste of time.”

“What, you have something better to do?” Cloud retorted.

Genesis’s eyes flashed, and for a moment he almost seemed ready to pull his rapier.

The moment passed, and his stance relaxed. “Touché.”

Cloud wanted to take that as a sign that Genesis’s mood swings were getting a little less hair-trigger, but the eccentric SOLDIER would no doubt pay him back double with some viciously incisive quip later. Genesis fought with words just as eagerly as he did with swords.

They went their separate ways to begin with, heading for the interior – Cloud on his bike, and Genesis in the sky.

When the wreckage grew too thick over the roads, Cloud left Fenrir and made his way on foot. After a while, Genesis soared down to glide lazily overhead, his shadow lapping Cloud’s boots.

“Why do you suppose the clone only became active now?” he mused.

This had become part of the routine. Every day they went searching, Genesis would ask questions – normally about the clone, but sometimes about ShinRa and Meteor and AVALANCHE. By unspoken agreement, they’d skirted the topic of Sephiroth ever since their last conversation about him.

“Well?” Genesis prodded, impatient.

Belatedly, Cloud shrugged. Everyone had theories. He didn’t care for any of them.

“You said there were clones before though, correct?” Genesis prompted.

“Three of them,” he confirmed, paused, then added, “Plus the ones who went to the Reunion before that.”

“And how many were there of those?”

“…At least a dozen.” There could have easily been more, especially among the ranks of those Hojo considered ‘failures’, but the highest numbered tattoo he’d come across was a 12.

Genesis let out a sound of dismissal. “So few? I had _far_ more than _that_.”

Not exactly something to be proud of, but Cloud didn’t comment.

They continued on in silence for another minute or so, the crunch of footsteps on gravel matched by the rhythmic whoosh of a single wing. Faint snarls carried on the wind from the west – two guard hounds, scrapping over a piece of meat.

Eventually, Genesis remarked, “I still fail to see why any remaining clones should be a threat if Jenova’s been completely destroyed.”

“Elena was killed,” he stated flatly.

“It hardly means the clone is _dangerous_. It simply means the Turks poke their noses in where they’re not welcome, and for once they got burned.”

There was an uncomfortable amount of truth in that. “It doesn’t change the fact that ShinRa’s not going to rest until they’ve found him.” The Turks had changed since Meteor. Once they wouldn’t have batted an eye over the death of a comrade, but now they possessed loyalty fierce enough to make _Vincent_ look fickle.

It didn’t matter if the clone had only acted out of self-defence. They would spend the rest of their _lives_ turning Midgar upside-down if they had to.

“Hm.” A gust of air swept over him as Genesis swooped lower to look him in the eye. "You know, Cloud Strife,” he mused, “ShinRa might be hunting down rogue clones, but _you_ are the single greatest carrier of S-cells left around."

He turned away, and didn’t acknowledge the remark. That round, Cloud begrudged, went to Genesis.

…………………

Later that day, after they’d gone their separate ways, Genesis headed back towards the theatre. His boots hit the ground with a thud – his landing a good deal heavier than planned. The sort of low flying he did while conversing with Cloud Strife sapped his energy far quicker than he liked to admit – his shoulder muscles ached, and mild fatigue dragged on his limbs as though he’d been on a materia casting marathon. Shaking the wing out, he stretched, and then folded it against his back. It was late, and dark shadows loomed across the crumbling alleyways, but home wasn’t far. The rest of the journey could be comfortably made on foot.

Another day of fruitless searching. Not entirely a waste, though – he’d learned some more about the clone situation, and managed to rattle his companion’s armour, too. Cloud Strife possessed stoicism enough to make a seasoned drill sergeant look like a green recruit, but it made the moments when he succeeded in flustering him all the more amusing.

Thus he found himself in a surprisingly pleasant mood, humming the chorus from one of _Loveless_ ’s better musical adaptations as he walked.

Halfway back to the theatre, his steps stilled and the tune died in his throat.

Midgar was silent. A crescent moon hung overhead, along with the first of the evening stars sparkling in the sky, providing little light to see by.

Genesis turned anyway, glowing blue eyes searching the darkness. “Show yourself.”

Nothing. Not even the patter of loose grit tumbling in the wind.

“Do _not_ make me repeat myself,” he warned, drawing his rapier and running a single gloved finger along the blade. It began to shine an unearthly red, casting a dull glow over the broken surrounds.

This time the flutter of a cape followed his words, and a crimson-clad stranger came bleeding from the shadows. “I expected your first demand to be a bluff.”

“I have spent many a year evading the Turks. I’m afraid you were rather _too_ silent for your own good.” Genesis flicked a pebble with the tip of his sword, and it chittered across the cracked asphalt. “Hear that? No monsters. That can only mean there’s an even bigger monster about.” His lips twisted into a cruel smirk. If the cloaked stranger had been careless enough to even make the slightest of scuffs with those ridiculous golden shoes, Genesis might have dismissed him as just another prowling predator.

“A larger monster than you?” The words were delivered without tone or inflection, though the timbre and depth of the voice reminded him strangely of old friends and rivals. Blood red eyes shone in the darkness.

Genesis laughed – the sound echoed harshly through the abandoned streets. “ _Wings stripped away, the end is nigh. Such is... the fate of a monster._ ” He held aloft his glowing sword, pointing it towards the man’s neck. “Those are fine words, coming from a _Turk_.”

He could spot one a mile away – they all held themselves in a particular way, had a manner of _studying_ faces instead of simply watching them. It was a skill honed by his many years spent hiding.

“I’m retired.”

“Once a Turk, always a Turk,” Genesis countered. _Once a SOLDIER_ …

The stranger didn’t seem particularly bothered by the accusation. If Cloud Strife were made of rock, this man was made of mythril. “I’m a friend of Cloud’s. I don’t work for Neo-ShinRa.”

Genesis’s eyes narrowed. “Your name.”

There was a long pause, then, “…I suppose telling you will do no harm.” He moved further out onto the street, within the range of the rapier’s glow. His golden shoes and gauntlet glinted rose in the light, and his tattered crimson cloak gained the eerie illusion of flatness, as though he were a Wutai wood block painting brought to life. “Vincent Valentine.”

_Vincent Valentine_.

Every nerve went on alert - every sense tingling in anticipation of battle. It took all of Genesis’s theatrical skill to hide the trigger hair response and appear neutral.

This was the man who almost single-handedly infiltrated and destroyed Deep Ground. It was _his_ fault Weiss became the way he did. Even if he knew little else about him, that one fact alone was enough to make Genesis wary. “If you are here to accuse me, allow me to inform you now that I did not kill any of the Turks, no matter how much they might have deserved it.”

“No,” Vincent agreed. “You would have used materia, or a sword. Genesis Rhapsodos was not known for hand-to-hand combat.”

“You know of me.” Annoyance – it seemed as though _everyone_ knew more than he did these days – battled briefly with pride. It was nice to know his reputation had not been _entirely_ buried in his old rival’s shadow.

“…I investigated,” Vincent conceded.

Genesis waved his free hand dismissively – his grip on his rapier, however, did not lessen a fraction. “Then why, pray tell, are you wasting your precious time following me?”

“It’s not you I’ve been tracking.”

His thoughts raced, turning swiftly to new scenarios and directions. “ _Cloud Strife_? I thought you said you were a _friend_ of his.”

“It’s highly probable any clone will eventually seek Cloud out. Following him provides him with backup he’d never accept on his own.”

“…And leads _you_ straight to the clone.” Genesis scoffed. “No matter what you call yourself now, you truly _are_ a _Turk_.” Thugs without honour or class, all of them. The man didn’t look the typical part, but his actions spoke louder than his attire. Genesis lowered his sword at last, though did not yet release the spell thrumming through the blade. “So you’re stalking him ‘for his own good’.”

Again, Vincent didn’t reply – quite rightly assuming no reply was necessary. Genesis began to believe he and Cloud might be friends after all – even _Sephiroth_ hadn’t been quite so taciturn. Still, there were a few too many holes in the cover story for him to buy it outright. “This theory of clones seeking out other clones doesn’t appear to be holding up,” he pointed out, perhaps a little vindictively. “No clone has shown up.”

Vincent remained inscrutable, but Genesis imagined he could hear a troubled tone to his words. “…It’s unusual, certainly. We don’t yet know what that could mean.”

Genesis _did_ know, but he thought it best to keep that particular tidbit to himself, especially if _Vincent Valentine_ were involved.

“So.” Silence hung between them for a long moment, stretching over the dark, deserted street like a smothering blanket. When Vincent showed no sign of moving, or even talking, Genesis prompted, “If you believe I didn’t kill the Turk, and you’re following _Cloud_ , why then are we here now? If it’s a fight you want, I am happy to oblige.” His blade crackled with power as he poured more energy into it. Vincent Valentine may have been the architect of Deep Ground’s deserving demise, but the best of the Tsviets still did not match up to the top three First Class SOLDIERs. The only one who’d ever had a hope was Weiss.

“Fighting you was not my purpose.” He waited a beat, then explained, “I need to know what your intentions are towards Cloud.”

The question came from so far offside Genesis was briefly struck dumb with disbelief. Then he laughed, loud and mockingly. “Are you his keeper?” he taunted. “Following him around, making sure he doesn’t break _curfew_?”

Vincent remained impassive, waiting out his mirth with sterling patience. _Aloof_ , much like a silver haired menace he used to know. Abruptly tired of the conversation, Genesis snapped, “What business is it of yours anyway?” It wasn’t as though he’d been actively seeking the other out, after all – if Cloud _truly_ didn’t want to his company, all he had to do was not turn up at the Church.

“If you’re looking to settle your rivalry with Sephiroth through Cloud, then it becomes my business.”

It took a long moment to process that statement. “Pardon? The presence of S-cells aside, he’s no Sephiroth.”

“Of course not,” Vincent replied, studying him for a long moment. “…Though I would have thought that being Sephiroth’s killer might have sufficed.”

“Sephiroth’s _killer_?” Genesis echoed. “ _Him_?” The svelte blond experiment? The nervous, scrappy little trooper he’d once put down so easily as to not even warrant _drawing his sword_?

Vincent inclined his head the barest of fractions. “…Left that part out, did he?” he murmured.

_Unbelievable_. “He said AVALANCHE was responsible.”

“AVALANCHE played a part,” Vincent agreed. “In the end, though, it came down to Cloud.”

Impossible. He’d said _nothing_! Had not even _mentioned_ crossing swords with Sephiroth! What kind of man would keep that a secret? Had he been _mocking_ him, all this time?!

Vincent watched him with crimson eyes. “Does this change matters?”

It did. _Enormously_.

Had Genesis not been such a studied actor, he might have lost his temper and given himself away. However, the lie flowed smoothly from his lips, cool water in wake of burning resentment and fiery rage. “It’s surprising, certainly. But it doesn’t affect our objective. We’re primarily interested in exchanging information. This matter with the clone is simply a mutual goal.” He shrugged carelessly. “He’s not an altogether bad comrade, though his respect for the arts leaves something to be desired.”

Whatever he was looking for, Vincent Valentine seemed to find it. His stance shifted imperceptibly – not lowering his guard so much as presenting a less threatening front. “Then in the event of a clone attack, I can rely on you to guard his back?”

“Looking for a replacement nanny?” Genesis snipped.

“I cannot follow him all the time,” Vincent murmured. “My skills are needed elsewhere.”

Genesis sighed – a good deal more theatrically than necessary. “I would think someone who can defeat _Sephiroth_ is more than capable of taking care of _himself_ , you know.”

“…But even though he can, doesn’t always mean he will.”

Before Genesis could demand an explanation for _that_ particular statement, Vincent walked onwards, his golden-plated shoes barely seeming to touch the ground and blood red coat curling in the cool evening breeze.

“Do this much, and ShinRa need not know you still exist.” Then he was gone – blending into the shadows like a ghostly apparition, threat lingering in the air.

Always a Turk, indeed.

Normally, Genesis might have toyed with the idea of killing Vincent Valentine, if only for the presumption that he could threaten _him_. His thoughts, however, rested many years away, in unfinished spars and lost friendships.

Cloud wasn’t even a real SOLDIER. How by the Goddess did he kill _Sephiroth_?

 

 


	9. Chapter 8

 

 

Cloud pushed open the Church doors.

Steel blurred towards his face, whistling through the air.

He dropped to the floor, drawing out his sword in one fluid motion. His blade swept in a wide arc, driving back his attacker. Flowers scattered, petals whirling in the air.

“Genesis?”

The SOLDIER in question angled his rapier towards him. “You have not been upholding your end of the bargain, Cloud Strife!” The crimson blade sliced at his throat. Cloud twisted to the side, and it struck the door.

“What are you talking about?”

The wood charred and hissed as Genesis yanked his rapier free, rounding on him with burning indignation in his eyes. “You’ve been keeping _secrets_. Did you think I would stand for it? After I so _graciously_ agreed to share my knowledge with you?” He struck like a mad serpent, weaving around his defences with deceptive speed.

Cloud stepped back, batting aside each strike before ducking out the door. Never mind that Genesis could fly – he didn’t want to fight inside the Church. The fray carried into the wreckage outside, their blades flashing in the morning sunlight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You killed Sephiroth!” The words were accentuated with a blast of flame. Heat buffeted him, singeing the tips of his hair.

How did he find _that_ out? “What do you care?” He retorted with a Braver – Genesis expected it this time, and stepped back to bear the driving weight.

“What do I _care_?” His rapier glowed red with magic, bright even under the direct sun. Embers scattered with each wild, sweeping slash. “All this time, and you’ve been hiding the fact that it was _you_ who killed Sephiroth!”

Two and a half weeks their truce had held. That was hardly a lot of time. “It didn’t seem important.” A quick roll to the side dodged another fireball.

“ _Not important_?” Grit scraped under their boots as their weapons locked in parry, angling for advantage. “Don’t treat me like a _fool_! I am a _SOLDIER First Class_!” With a monumental effort, Genesis threw his full weight against his sword. Cloud slipped to the side, the sharp edges of their blades singing as he scraped out of the deadlock. “How did _you_ defeat him when everyone _else_ failed?!”

_That_ was what this was about? “I just got lucky the first time!”

Genesis made a strangled sort of sound in his throat. “The _first time_?” His rapier cleaved through a stray wooden beam like butter. Cloud spun away as splinters showered them.

In retrospect, that argument wouldn’t help his case any – though Cloud was not yet exactly sure what his case _was_. Digging in his heels, he met the next attack head on. “This is stupid.”

“I agree. Only a _moron_ would hold back against a SOLDIER in battle.” Flames began to build up in Genesis’s spare hand. “Enough of this! Fight me _seriously_ , Cloud Strife!”

Genesis didn’t even wait for him to respond. With a twist of his wrist, fire burst all around him - a halo of searing orange explosions that thundered in his ears and scalded his skin. His opponent was fighting to _kill_.

Cloud’s patience finally snapped.

His thumb hit the sword release.

…………………

Genesis smiled humourlessly, hair tossed by the burning air as a maelstrom of flames burst before him. _Oh yes_. It had been _far_ too long since he’d cut loose.

His heart sang with the thrill of battle, almost giddy with the prospect of _finally_ proving himself, _finally_ concluding a fight left unresolved for over a decade.

To his pleasure, Cloud burst through the blaze towards him, slightly sooty but otherwise unharmed. Genesis raised his blade with relish, dashing forward to meet the strike-

Time seemed to slow as the sword split before his eyes. Giddiness abruptly turned to disbelief.

He wrenched himself to the side. Steel shivered a hair’s breadth from his stomach. The afterimage drove for his shoulder.

Instinct – a long persevered habit of protecting a gangrenous wound – was all that let him react in time. With a twist, he dropped to one knee, the blade passed harmlessly by with a whoosh of air – _then an instant later came driving towards his leg_.

It was a messy block – Genesis jerked his rapier into a guard, knocking the strike off course, using that precious second to roll away, tossing out a barrage of fireballs while he regained his feet. _How_ -?

As the flames dissipated, he had his answer.

It hadn’t been a trick of the eyes. The sword had broken in two.

Cloud didn’t wait for the realisation to kick in – he was upon him in an eye blink, dual blades slashing. Desperately, Genesis backpedalled, parrying one slash while evading the other, boots scraping across the cracked earth. He grimaced with effort as what looked like a glancing blow turned out to have the entire sword behind it. _He’d rejoined the blades_. No sooner than the thought registered, he was whirling, catching the next strike, and then overbalancing as it turned out to only be half the blade again.

He’d become faster. A _lot_ faster. Enough so that Genesis – one of the quickest SOLDIERs, bar Sephiroth – struggled to keep up, his muscles protesting the strain and his breathing growing laboured.

It was _art_. There was no other word for it. Poetry in motion.

A thin gash cut through the thigh of his pants. Another scored along his cheek, seeping crimson. He spun away, half a step behind, throwing out fire and fashioning molten magic swords to waylay his opponent for even a moment.

Cloud swept them all aside as though they were nothing more than a troublesome breeze. Steam hissed from his blade, and the air warped with heat waves.

_Unstoppable_.

For the first time in his presence, Genesis began to feel a shred of self-doubt. A tendril of fear took hold, an almost forgotten sensation not quite smothered by the defensive anger and indignation awakening deep in his gut.

_He couldn’t win_.

His thoughts turned to automatic response. His wing spread forth, and he scrambled into the sky, a messy flutter of whirling black feathers.

Cloud simply jumped to meet him, twin swords brandished.

_It wasn’t supposed to go like this_.

Snarling, Genesis lashed out with all of his strength – strength that could shatter concrete and slice steel. Airborne, though, it did little good. The force of their meeting sent him careening through the air, wind whistling past his ears and wing trailing uselessly.

He crashed into the side of a concrete wall with a sickening thud. It collapsed under him, crumbling in a series of deafening cracks and thumps. One jagged slab struck his sword arm, pain lancing up to his shoulder before a curious numbness set in. His rapier clattered from his fingers, and he scrabbled to pick it up with his other hand.

Heavy boots thudded to the ground by his knees, their step steadfast and sure on the loose rubble. Silver steel pointed at his heart.

“Are you happy now?” Cloud asked.

His entire stance was calm. Confident. As though taking out a SOLDIER First Class was no more strenuous than slaying an uppity dragon.

Cloud Strife was the real deal.

For a moment, jealous rage flared in his breast. His fingers itched to pull out his Fire materia again, to unleash hell on this _no-name_ upstart who had stolen his rival and glory from under his feet, who had survived when both Zack Fair and his dear friend Angeal had fallen, who he once held _helpless_ and at his mercy.

Let it not be said, however, that he was without honour. That strength was real. Genesis could respect it.

“I’ve become rusty,” he muttered. “Far too long underground, without a worthy opponent.”

It was, apparently, concession enough. Cloud withdrew.

Grimacing, Genesis pulled himself up, feeling the ache in his back muscles from the impact, relieved he’d at least managed to turn enough to avoid landing on his wing. If not for mako enhancements, he would have been a red smear on the wall. As it was, he’d be feeling tender for a few hours.

With a small amount of effort, he heaved the slab of concrete off his pinned arm, inspecting it as best he could. Not broken as far as he could tell, but he didn’t want to imagine what the skin looked like underneath the leather sleeve.

The warm tingle of cure magic washed over him, chasing away the worst of his aches. He glanced up as Cloud tucked a Restore back into his pocket. He hadn’t been aware the man carried any materia.

“You really did it,” he murmured in wonder. “You killed Sephiroth.” Despite Vincent’s words, a part of him hadn’t _truly_ believed it. Not until then.

Cloud just looked uncomfortable. “I had a lot of help.” He stood back, giving him room to stand and brush himself off. Genesis’s nose wrinkled as he took in the state of his coat. Already it had been growing tattered, and the new rents in the leather would not be easy to mend.

“Hmph.” Genesis cast a casual eye over his rapier next, checking for damage, but it looked like the magic had done its work in protecting the blade. “You insult me by selling yourself short, Cloud Strife.”

He turned to take stock of their surroundings. The fight had carried them some distance from the church, though the spire remained visible in the distance. Little in the way of recognisable architecture remained in the area – mostly the odd valiant wall, holding up against the elements, the rest crumbling into a monotonous mess of rubble and wreckage.

The reverent stillness of their surrounds shattered under a high-pitched buzz. Cloud pulled out his phone, frowned, and gestured at Genesis to keep quiet as he answered.

The blond listened for a long moment, then said, “Don’t worry about it. That was me.”

He paused.

“Yeah, I stopped by the Church.”

Another pause.

“Testing materia.”

A longer pause.

“None of your business.”

Then Cloud hung up, and fixed Genesis with a look that said ‘ _this is all your fault_ ’.

It was a look Genesis was very familiar with thanks to Angeal, and it didn’t work any better on him now than it did back then. “You truly have conversation down to a fine art, don’t you?”

“The less you say to the Turks, the less chance of getting caught lying,” was the simple reply.

True enough. Not everyone could be as gifted as himself with words and fiction.

“So,” Genesis said, “Where will we be searching today?”

Cloud stared at him. Genesis indulged him by staring back, smirk playing on his lips.

“…That’s it?”

“I’m willing to let the matter of your _misinformation_ slide for now.” Genesis could be gracious, no matter the blow to his pride. “On one condition.”

Mako blue eyes regarded him, wary now.

“We,” Genesis stated, “are going to spar again.”

The reply this time came swiftly. “Not interested.” Cloud turned and headed over to his motorcycle.

Genesis flexed his wing, testing for damage from his rather ungainly crash. “You don’t have a choice, Cloud Strife!”

In response, the motorcycle’s engine gunned to life, roar cutting across the ruinous landscape. With a scrape of tyres and a spray of sand, Cloud took off. Deeper into Midgar, at least – the search was on as normal.

Genesis watched for a moment. He would let the matter drop… for now. His opponent would come around – he would get his way in _this_ , at the very least.

He leapt into the air before Cloud could speed out of sight. His back still ached faintly, but it wouldn’t hinder his flight. It scarcely mattered – his thoughts were far too active to pay any attention to such physical distractions.

No longer could he view Cloud Strife as nothing more than a source of information; a curiosity; a tenuous link to fond memories of the past. _That_ had been swept away in the wake of twin blades. It cast his new comrade in an _entirely_ new light – filled him with a feverish heat, a kind of electricity that charged him, made him feel _alive_ , as though the past ten years had been shrouded in a grey fog.

Genesis threw back his head, and laughed at the sky.

So he’d lost Sephiroth as a rival? It hardly mattered, now. He’d found someone _even better_.

 

 


	10. Chapter 9

 

 

In the end, Genesis got his way – after all, if he came at him with a blade, Cloud wasn’t going to just _sit back_ and let himself get skewered.

Cloud won, of course. It did not dissuade Genesis from bothering him for a spar again four days afterwards. Or another two days after that.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he grumbled, backing away cautiously. _Usually_ the fight was over once a clear victor had been decided, but sometimes their definitions of ‘clear victor’ disagreed.

Genesis bared his teeth at him. “Why do you think? Because it’s _fun_ , Cloud Strife.” With exaggerated care, he dusted off his coat, adjusted his gloves, and retrieved his rapier from the ground. “I’ll defeat you in time.”

Cloud looked away, unnerved by the intensity of Genesis’s following stare. He felt strangely exposed under it.

They were in Sector 6 this time, though the only recognisable landmark was a lopsided billboard advertising the Honeybee Inn. The paper had torn away at the top, leaving the bikini-clad showgirls headless. A rusted shell of a car sat to the side of the intersection, scored with carbon from a stray fireball.

“It’s no wonder we’re not having any luck with the search,” Cloud muttered. If the clone _were_ anywhere nearby, they would have certainly scared it off with the fighting. As it stood, it was amazing they’d managed to escape the Turks’ notice.

“Are you suggesting we quit?”

“ _Yes_.”

Genesis rolled his eyes. “I meant the search.”

The temptation was strong to say yes to that too, but Cloud kept quiet. The odd pattern of behaviour of this clone – or _whatever_ it was that killed Elena – was beginning to make him vaguely anxious, piercing even the languid unreality of the time spent with Genesis. The Geostigma epidemic had been spread over nearly a year, but the time between the first encounter with Kadaj’s troupe and the third coming of Sephiroth had stretched only a matter of weeks.

He could have used… no, he couldn’t. That was something he would save for a last resort. There was too much risk involved. He didn’t want to leave himself open to any… influence.

He'd spent a lot of time reassuring people that he was in control, and not like the other clones. He didn’t want to admit that the last time Sephiroth had appeared, there had been a moment – just a short moment, merely a matter of seconds – where he’d nearly lost control. All because he’d been using that connection to track Kadaj and failed to properly suppress it when the tables turned.

As always, he forced his thoughts away from the unpleasant memory. At least some of the animosity had bled out of the meetings with Genesis, now.

He initially thought that Genesis might hate him on the revelation that he was the one who killed Sephiroth – three times, at that – but it turned out to be the exact opposite. The cutting remarks and insightful insults hadn’t entirely disappeared, but they were decidedly less barbed than before. The threats of violence lost their seriousness and became, dare he imagine it, almost _playful_. Kind of like when Tifa used to try and goad him into her sparring with her. The former Commander even implied that he didn’t mind his company a couple of times.

Cloud didn’t know what to make of it, really.

He must have been quiet for too long because Genesis, as always, started to fill the protracted silence with poetry.

“ _Beloved is the Dawn_  
 _The bell of broken slumber_  
 _To a healed world, a new oath_  
 _A promise carried past the end_.”

Cloud frowned, pulled from his introspection by the unfamiliarity of the words. The endless recitations had drummed _Loveless_ into his head, to the point where he could usually identify the act if not the verse, but this didn’t sound familiar. “Is that _Loveless_? I don’t recognise it.”

“ _Beloved,_ second act. One of my preferred unofficial sequels to the original poem, dated approximately fifty years after the original _Loveless_ manuscript.”

Interesting, but he didn’t see what it had to do with anything. Maybe nothing. Genesis had a tendency to jump topics – and moods – without warning sometimes. Cloud quietly suspected that the prolonged seclusion might have driven him a little crazy. The Chocobo Sage they’d met in the mountains shared a disturbing number of personality traits with him – right down to the singular obsession.

The skitter of claws against concrete interrupted his next thought. They both fell silent. Cloud felt for the reassuring weight of his sword, caressing the raised edges of the hilt through his gloves. Most of the wildlife in Midgar were small pickings, but sometimes they’d stumble across a monster mutated by mako. Genesis mirrored his actions, swinging down from his perch and landing with a cat-like grace.

They waited, ears strained, tuned to pick up the slightest of scuffs, weapons ready to be drawn on a pin drop.

The faint jingle of beads was not the sound he expected.

Then when a familiar tuft of red fur poked around the corner…

Cloud didn’t know whether to feel relief or _panic_.

He made a quick shooing motion, but Genesis merely looked at him quizzically. It took a moment more to dredge up some stolen memories, changing to SOLDIER hand signals, when Nanaki called, “Cloud? Is that you?”

Catching on, Genesis ducked around the corner of the rubble he’d been sitting on earlier. Poor cover, but too late for an aerial escape. “Over here.”

Nanaki padded out into the open, his crimson mane swaying slightly with the movement. At first glance, he looked like a cross between a blood taste and a coeurl, but the clear light of intelligence shone from his one good eye – the other closed against a ragged scar. Weathered golden cuffs rested above each paw, and black tribal tattoos decorated each leg, along with his namesake, the branded numerals ‘XIII’. His tail flicked up at the sight of Cloud – adorned as always with an ever-burning tongue of flame.

“It’s been a while.” His voice had a gravelled quality, as though stuck halfway between a purr and a growl. He sniffed the air delicately. “So who else is here?”

_Gaia_ , he’d forgotten about Nanaki’s sense of smell. He stalled to think. “What are you doing here?”

That earned him a curious look, but Nanaki explained, “Reeve called me in to help with the search for a few days. They thought my ‘unique skills’ would be useful.”

“I meant...” He waved a hand, encompassing the surrounding area.

“Ah.” Nanaki settled on his haunches, the beads threaded in his mane jangling with the movement. “That part is simple. I wanted to find you. I tried the Church first, and followed your scent here.” His tail swished. “The second scent I found there, however, is unfamiliar to me.”

When Cloud hesitated again, his gaze grew shrewd. “Is it something you don’t want the others to know?”

He could lie – Nanaki would _know_ he was lying, but likely wouldn’t call him on it. He could even be honest and say straight out that it was confidential, but his old comrade was clever enough to make assumptions, and in this case those assumptions could prove divisive and dangerous.

In the end, he decided he could rely on Nanaki to be discreet. And if the former SOLDIER Commander started getting ideas about killing every possible leak as to his existence… well, Nanaki was about as fireproof as they came. He’d weather it. “…Genesis, you’d better come out.”

The silence that followed made him wonder if the former SOLDIER had managed to slip away without _either_ of them noticing. Until… “Are you _certain_ , Cloud Strife?” The words held a tint of warning to them.

“Yeah. He’s trustworthy.”

After a painfully long moment, Genesis sidled out from his hiding place. Wing put away, thankfully.

The incredulity on his face was almost worth the risk.

“A _beast_?”

“I resent that,” Nanaki replied, though his tone was more amused than disgruntled.

“Genesis, meet Red XIII,” Cloud introduced. “He’s from AVALANCHE. We rescued him from Hojo’s labs.”

The mention of the labs partially cleared the wariness from Genesis’s stance, as he knew it would. “You have interesting taste in friends, Cloud Strife. First Vincent Valentine, then _this_ creature?”

Wait. “You met Vincent?” _When_?

Genesis ignored him, eyeing the newcomer appraisingly. Nanaki bore it with good-natured patience, until the former SOLDIER abruptly declared, “Very well. If you think he can keep a secret, I’ll not protest.”

Cloud was still stuck on the Vincent revelation, and took a second to catch up. “Just like that?” He’d been prepared for at least a couple of threats and a lecture on discretion.

“I like him,” was the lazy reply.

Then he looked at Nanaki again, and understood. If there were two things he’d noticed about Genesis – beyond, of course, his obsession with _Loveless_ and fighting – it was his fondness for the colour red and fire.

Nanaki had probably been in more danger of _adoption_ than death threats.

“Cloud?” his old ally asked, “Are you going to explain?”

“We met several weeks ago. Genesis was another of ShinRa’s experiments. He’s in hiding from ShinRa.”

“From Neo-ShinRa? Why?”

“He’s paranoid.”

“No, I am simply not _naïve_ ,” Genesis corrected.

Cloud rolled his eyes and added, just for good measure, “Before you ask, he didn’t kill Elena.” Then he turned back to Genesis. “And what was that about Vincent?” Had Shelke said something? He’d _known_ it was a risk, but when he last saw Vincent at the bar he hadn’t brought it up.

Genesis waved a hand at him distractedly. “He was following _you¸_ naturally. _Clearly_ you need to take more care to make sure you’re not being tracked.” He sent a significant look at Nanaki, who merely flicked his tail again and did his best to look nonchalant.

Vincent had been tracking him?

_Vincent_ had met _Genesis_?

“If I had to guess,” Nanaki rumbled, “he was following Cloud in hopes he would draw out the clone.”

It made sense, tactically. It didn’t make the sting of betrayal any softer. “He could have just asked,” he murmured. Cloud didn’t mind playing bait. He _did_ mind his friends going behind his back.

“He had your health at heart,” Genesis informed him in a bored tone. “And didn’t think you would accept. Even attempted threatening _me_ into guarding your back in his place.”

Somehow, Cloud had the weird sense that he might have stumbled on the _real_ reason for Genesis’s sudden fervour for instigating swordfights every other meeting. The former SOLDIER clearly had problems with any authority other than his own.

“It didn’t work, anyway,” he said, pushing the matter aside to brood over later. “We haven’t seen any sign of the clone for weeks.”

“That was why Reeve called me in,” Nanaki confirmed.

“The Lifestream?” Nanaki nodded – the gesture looked strange on him. At Genesis’s curious expression, Cloud explained, “His race can sometimes hear the Planet, similar to the Ancients.”

The SOLDIER inspected Nanaki with renewed interest. “And this can be applied to searching for clones?”

“Nothing nearly so clear as Cloud would sense, in that particular case.” He pawed the asphalt, as though testing its strength. “But there _is_ unusual movement in the Lifestream, and it’s focused on Midgar. I can tell you that much.”

That was never a good sign. “Any chance of another Geostigma plague?”

“The scientists in the Canyon think not. And if another outbreak occurs, we have a cure now anyway.”

Small mercies. He found himself gripping his left arm, and consciously relaxed his hand before lowering it back to his side. “Have you told ShinRa this?”

“Only Reeve. But I imagine _he_ will tell ShinRa.”

No telling what they’d do with the information. Hopefully not much. It was too vague to be of any real use.

“What does it mean?” Genesis interrupted.

“Maybe nothing,” Cloud replied, turning to look out over the ruins. Rainclouds had begun to gather overhead, blocking out the afternoon sunlight and turning the sky grey. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about the Lifestream.”

The three of them sat in thoughtful silence for a long moment.

“Things are happening more slowly than in the past,” Nanaki said, the words coloured with a cautious growl. “Perhaps the Jenova virus is finally losing traction.”

They _had_ destroyed the last of her body. Unless ShinRa were hoarding more pieces.

“We’re going to keep up the search anyway, just in case,” he said. The truth remained that  _something_ in Midgar had killed Elena. That fact remained unalterable.

“On your own?”

Cloud nodded towards Genesis, by way of explanation.

“I see.” Nanaki stretched, shaking out his mane with a jangle of beads. “In that case, I’ll have a look around a little longer on my own today, and head back to the Canyon the day after tomorrow. I’ll let you know if I come across anything.”

“Thanks, Nanaki.” He hesitated, then ventured, “None of the others-”

“Not even Tifa. I understand.” He bowed his head slightly to Genesis, who returned the gesture, and padded away.

“…As I said, interesting friends, Cloud Strife.”

He glared. His nerves were still jangled over the unexpected meeting and all it had revealed. “How long were you planning on keeping the fact you met Vincent a secret?”

“Approximately as long as _you_ failed to tell _me_ that you were Sephiroth’s killer.”

Cloud just sighed. Genesis took petty to whole new level sometimes.

“What happened to your arm?” Genesis asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You were holding it before. As though you were remembering something.”

Unbidden, his hand rose once more. It had been two years, but sometimes he still expected to feel the sharp, stabbing pains lancing down his arm. To find the foul black residue coating his glove. “It’s nothing.”

Genesis’s stare was unusually intense – long and unblinking. Then he scoffed.

“ _His blood scorched by black fire  
His heart soothed by her blessing  
He goes to battle."_ He gripped his shoulder, for just a moment. " _Beloved_ , fourth act."

Cloud stared at him for a long moment, and then glanced back down at his pale, unmarked arm, thin red ribbon tied innocently over the spot once marred by Geostigma’s taint. _Black fire_. Not a bad way to describe it.

They parted ways soon after. Cloud detoured by the Church on his way back, and sat amidst the fragrant blossoms until twilight, staring into the pool of water that still seemed to sparkle despite the dark grey clouds overhead.

It had been a big day. He had a lot to think about.

It didn’t help that when he finally returned to Edge that evening, that same group of teenagers were loitering outside of his garage. More of them, this time, covering a network of streets. They were starting to plan.

He gunned Fenrir’s engine and rolled on past, and didn’t get home until well after midnight.

 

 


	11. Chapter 10

 

 

The arriving home late thing started becoming a trend. It was nearly midnight the next evening when Cloud finally returned to Seventh Heaven, under stormy clouds and a blanket of rain. He’d spent the day doing deliveries before taking a lengthy, roundabout route home that didn’t take him directly past the bar. The kids were probably already asleep, and most of the customers were surely gone.

Cloud felt drained too – as little as he slept most nights, dry clothes and a warm bed still sounded good right then. It was the sort of tired that gave him respite from dreams.

As soon as he entered the bar and caught sight of a certain crimson cloak, however, all thoughts of sleep fled from his mind.

“Cloud,” Vincent greeted.

The word was barely out of his mouth before Cloud grabbed him by the gauntlet and dragged him into the back room.

Vincent could have evaded, probably – Cloud was faster and stronger, but Vincent could _read_ people, and possessed a level of stealth and evasion almost otherworldly. But he didn’t. He calmly let himself get manhandled into the shadowy storeroom and cornered against the wall.

“We need to talk,” Cloud said. It took a lot of self-control to keep his voice level.

Vincent merely inclined his head. “Yes.”

“You’ve been following me.”

To his credit, Vincent didn’t play dumb. “I was.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Neither of them wasted words.

“Would you have agreed to it?”

“To being followed, no. To playing bait, yes.”

“…Even if that meant acknowledging the connection you have to Jenova?”

…He had him, there. Cloud didn’t want to bring up that connection – didn’t want to admit how his control had slipped, even if only for a moment, in his last encounter with Sephiroth. How he’d lost weeks of sleep over it afterwards and how the very thought still terrified him, somewhere deep down inside.

Better to change the subject. “Why didn’t you tell me that you met Genesis?”

“Why did you feel the need to keep it a secret?”

It was typical of Vincent that Cloud would come to say his piece and somehow wind up on the _defensive_.

“His request. With his history, he doesn’t trust ShinRa.” He fell silent, unsure whether to say more.

“And after what happened to Elena, he may be right to,” Vincent supplied for him. “We may know he’s not responsible, but with his history, he would make a convenient scapegoat.”

Cloud nodded, glad he didn’t have to explain that much. Vincent regarded him thoughtfully, and continued, “…But that’s not the only reason, is it?”

For a moment, guilt lanced through him. He still had reason to suspect that Genesis and the clone were connected, but weeks had passed and nothing had come of it. He’d started to think nothing would. There could have been other explanations. Maybe it really _had_ been coincidence that Genesis attacked when he first did. Maybe the tracks he’d followed to the theatre didn’t even belong to the clone. The trail _had_ been poor.

And maybe, too, he didn’t want to share this just yet. Didn’t want Tifa or AVALANCHE colouring his opinion, telling him what to think and do, planting doubts. For now, it was something that was his and his alone.

It was a good escape, besides.

None of this he voiced to Vincent, but Vincent likely already suspected. He all but confirmed it when he said, “I didn’t say anything, because it seems like this has been good for you.” He paused, and added delicately, “I suspect it is good for him, as well.”

Cloud shrugged, and looked away. Genesis was a little less aggressive and moody than when they first met, but that was probably more a matter of developing trust than any sort of social rehabilitation.

“I’m sorry if I broke your trust,” Vincent added.

Cloud shrugged again, scattering droplets of water with the gesture. “Words,” he muttered. He raised his eyes to meet his friend’s gaze. “You have to do what you think is right. And I’ve been keeping secrets too. But I have to know what you’re going to do with this.”

“I haven’t told anyone, as I’m sure you’ve realised. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone, either, unless something changed. If something does change, I’ll consult with you first.”

Cloud could live with that. He nodded, and only then realising he was still effectively cornering the former Turk against the wall, backed off.

His trust had been damaged, and he didn’t trust easily in the first place. But the assurance that Vincent was still in his corner went a long way to soothing his anger. Cloud had been feeling a little persecuted lately, and the thought that one of the few who could hope to understand might not trust _him_ any longer had cut deeper than expected.

Now that Vincent knew, though, better they were on the same page. No misunderstandings that way. “How much do you know about him?”

“Everything Shelke told you,” Vincent replied.

Cloud _knew_ that would come back to haunt him. But maybe it worked out for the best in this case. “He might seem a little strange, but he’s nothing like Sephiroth.” The wing didn’t paint a comfortable picture, he knew.

“I know.”

He let out a breath. “Okay. Good. That’s all I had to say.” He turned to leave. His clothes were still sodden, and clung to him uncomfortably. He’d left muddy puddles all over the place. Tifa would be annoyed in the morning.

“Cloud.”

He paused at the door.

"What exactly is it that you're seeking, with all of this?" Vincent asked.

Cloud tensed. "...Understanding, I guess."

Vincent studied him for a long moment, crimson eyes searching. "...I hope you find it."

And that was the last they spoke of the matter.

……………………..

“ _As the war sends the world hurtling towards destruction_  
 _The prisoner departs with his newfound love_  
 _And embarks on a new journey_.”

At the expectant silence, Cloud sighed and said, “I’m not going to play guessing games.” Even if he already knew the answer.

“ _Loveless_ , Third Act,” Genesis informed him, somewhat pompously. “Were you even _listening_ to the play?”

“I didn’t have much choice, did I?”

“You’re glad you stayed in the end, of course.”

Cloud grumbled to himself, but didn’t otherwise reply. He’d sooner summon Odin on _himself_ than deal with Genesis lording _that_ over him.

They were in a broken down part of Sector 1 that day. The late afternoon sun bathed the ruins in a warm, rosy light. The dust and mako floating through the air even now, months after the Omega incident, gave the light volume and form, discrete beams shining through the gaps in the rubble.

With no comment forthcoming, Genesis continued, “So, today we have searched, we have sparred, and now, Cloud Strife – we have time for our quest for _understanding_.” He waved his hand in a shooing motion. “Go on then. I believe it’s your turn.”

His brow furrowed. Cloud had been worrying about this moment for the past couple of days now. Over the course of their question-and-answer sessions, he’d learnt some more about SOLDIER, and Zack, and even some more about what happened during his time spent comatose, but in the grand scheme of things it amounted to nothing more than trivia. He didn’t know what to ask next. Hadn’t known for a while.

When he took too long to reply Genesis let out an overly dramatic sigh. “Must I remind you that _you_ were the one who sought _me_ out for this?”

Cloud looked away. It wasn’t as though he’d done it on purpose. If he’d had a clearer idea of what he was looking for, he wouldn’t have needed to go through all this trouble in the first place.

“Your problem, Cloud Strife,” Genesis lectured, “is that you keep avoiding the questions you _truly_ want to ask.” He chose a half-collapsed awning and swung up to sit on its edge. “Allow me to enlighten you. You are _not_ looking to fill in gaps in your memory, or to find _reasons_ behind matters long past.”

The sentence hung in the air. With a silent sigh, Cloud took the cue. “What is that I’m looking for then?”

“It’s obvious. You, Cloud Strife-“ Genesis enunciated each word emphatically. “-are looking for a _future_.”

The answer was unexpected enough to leave him mentally off-balance. _A future_? “I have a future,” he grumbled. He was still _alive_ , after all. Didn’t that count?

“Is that so?” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Tell me – since achieving your revenge against Sephiroth, have you found satisfaction? Something other than meeting the immediate needs of survival?”

“I have a delivery service.”

“A _job_ , not a _career_. Is that what you aspired to, when you joined ShinRa?”

The words stung – salty reminders of a wound that had never quite healed. His dreams had gone up in smoke along with Nibelheim.

He’d never found new ones.

“I can’t believe I’ve degenerated into a _career counsellor_ ,” Genesis huffed to himself in the ensuing silence. “But you clearly need all the help you can get.”

His first instinct was to protest. But when he thought about it, since Nibelheim, his life had been a series of transitions between various states of survival – be it surviving Hojo, running from ShinRa, or enduring Geostigma. Any peace snatched in-between had been occupied with rebuilding. He’d never switched off.

You couldn’t live in a survival state forever. It caught up with you. You had to find ways to cope, to escape. Chocobo racing. Materia trading.

Delivery services.

The creeping realisation made him uncomfortable. The delivery service – the shaky foothold of normalcy he’d established for himself in a post-Meteor world - was nothing more than a means of running away. Running away from ShinRa who wanted to hire him; AVALANCHE who wanted a hero; Tifa who wanted a happy ending he couldn’t provide.

He felt suddenly nauseous.

Floundering for traction, he looked away under the guise of watching a razor weed creep among the garbage. How did _Genesis_ notice before _he_ did? They’d known each other for only a matter of _weeks_.

How many _others_ had seen what he’d been blind to all along?

“Plenty of people are fine with living from day to day,” he muttered. Traitorously, his thoughts leapt to Cid, piloting his pride and joy, achieving his dreams of making it to space. Or Barret, prospecting for oil to make it big. Reeve creating the WRO. Nanaki, protecting Cosmo Canyon and the legacy of his race. Even Yuffie, rebuilding Wutai in her own esoteric way.

“Certainly. Not everyone _wants_ to be President of ShinRa.” Genesis rolled his eyes. “You are deliberately missing my point.”

“What about you?” he asked, a tad resentfully. “What did you want to be, before you decided to become a SOLDIER?”

The answer came swiftly. “An actor, naturally.”

“An _actor_?”

“Yes. A performer. A _thespian_.”

“I know what an actor is,” he said. He should have guessed – Genesis obsessed over  _Loveless_ with the same kind of endless enthusiasm as Yuffie over materia. “So why did you become a SOLDIER instead?”

“Hmph!” Genesis flicked the hair out of his eyes. “Why merely settle for _playing_ the role, when I could become the hero in reality?”

Again, he shouldn’t have been surprised. “What about now?”

Genesis simply closed his eyes, face tilted into the breeze.

“ _My Friend, your dream_  
 _Heralds the return of the Goddess_  
 _Restless wandering without respite_  
 _History's search has no conclusion_."

Which, incidentally, didn’t answer his question at _all_.

“That didn’t sound like _Loveless_ ,” Cloud pointed out.

“ _Beloved_ , Second Act.”

He’d been quoting that nearly as often as _Loveless_ recently. “Have a new favourite?”

“After ten years, a man needs to expand his repertoire as the situation demands.”

In his opinion, quoting from a _sequel_ wasn’t exactly expanding one’s repertoire, but Cloud kept his thoughts to himself. They’d already had one swordfight that day. If he wanted to get back to Seventh Heaven before midnight, picking on Genesis’s taste in poetry wasn’t the way to do it.

“ _The wandering soul knows no rest_ ,” he muttered.

Genesis flashed him a wicked grin. “You’re learning.”

…………………

Tifa’s bar always held a rich mixture of familiar and unfamiliar scents which simultaneously irritated his nose and comforted him like a soft blanket from home. Alcohol and pine, stale cigarette smoke, a cacophony of body odours from the day’s patrons. The faint thread of flowers, mako, metal and motor oil he identified as Cloud’s. The odd combination of talcum powder and crayons was Marlene. The rank stench of petroleum and sweat and gunpowder identified Barret. And the ghostly presence of brimstone…

“Vincent,” Nanaki greeted, settling next to the red-cloaked gunman.

The former Turk spared him a glance before returning his attention to scanning the room from his spot against the wall. The bar wasn’t quite full, but busier than normal. A steady hum of conversation cloaked the room, backed by the fuzz of a television turned low and the sharp clink of beer glasses. “I thought you were leaving yesterday.”

“Cid is giving me a ride back to Cosmo Canyon tomorrow.” A mild inconvenience, though he didn’t mind the chance to visit with everyone. Nanaki suspected Reeve hoped he would use the extra days to search more, but after talking with Cloud, he didn’t see the point. He would be of no more help, and any further upsets in the Lifestream could be monitored better from his Grandfather’s laboratory in the canyon. “Cloud isn’t back yet?”

“He’s been returning late most nights, recently.”

His ears drooped at that. They sat in companionable silence for the better part of the next two minutes. Until Nanaki said, “I met his friend.”

Vincent didn’t react, but he didn’t pretend not to know what Nanaki was talking about, either. “What did you think?”

“…It’s too early to tell. But he seems trustworthy. And Cloud has good judgement.”

Vincent didn’t reply to that for a good long while.

“You’re still worried?” Nanaki asked.

“It’s a delicate situation. Rufus may act simply to be seen to be acting.”

“And the Turks are in no state of mind to correct his judgement.” He cast a glance over to that corner of the bar. Blood and dirt and shoe polish and a crisp smell Nanaki associated with dry cleaners. The Turks regularly camped out there, enough that their scent lingered even when they weren’t present. “Have you spoken to Cloud?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not happy with you.”

Vincent made a small sound of agreement. “Cloud understands. My position is not as flexible as it once was.”

_That_ caught his attention. “Shelke.” He understood now. Previously, Vincent only had himself to think of and could move freely. Now, providing Cloud with the covert backup he needed could leave Shelke vulnerable.

A fortunate turn, then, that Genesis had come onto the scene.

“What makes _you_ so certain he can be trusted?” Nanaki had been prepared to trust Genesis based on the observations of their interaction alone – any friend of Cloud’s was a friend of his - but Vincent didn’t operate like that.

“…Did you notice anything about him, when you met him?”

Thinking back on it, there hadn’t been anything terribly unusual. Not by AVALANCHE benchmarks, at least. Genesis had smelled of mako and fire and leather and old dry books. For a minute, he’d almost looking on the verge of petting him, but that was an unfortunately common reaction once people realised he wasn't wild. “Aside from the obvious, you mean?” He doubted Vincent meant the glowing eyes.

To his surprise, the former Turk made a small sound of amusement low in his throat. “I forget sometimes that you’re still a cub by your race’s standards. I suppose it wouldn’t be apparent to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nanaki growled, indignant. He might be young by his race’s standards, but he was _not_ a cub! “What are you not telling me?”

Vincent simply pushed off from the wall and headed towards the exit, red cloak billowing in his wake. Nanaki scrambled after him. “Wait! Vincent!!”

 

 


	12. Chapter 11

 

 

Genesis lounged on the highest beam in the church roof, twirling a white flower between his fingers. Cloud had a tendency to get _precious_ about them, so he’d taken care to pluck one on the verge of wilting. Given the scarcity of life – beyond scraggly razor weed and scavenging vermin – within Midgar’s ruins, the preciousness was perhaps not without merit.

The delicate fragrance of the blossom reminded him of Banora. Dumbapple flowers carried a headier, more honeyed perfume, but combined with the scent of wet earth and the buttery sunlight filtering through the hole in the roof, he could almost pretend he was back among the orchards as a boy, blissfully unaware of the treachery afoot, believing himself free as a bird instead of an experiment trapped in a gilded cage.

As he lived now – an escaped hound, dodging former masters, living in the wild away from civilisation – was more freedom than he had ever possessed back then. He cherished it, and would do anything to protect it - having it taken away once made it all the more prized. The Goddess had granted him a second chance at life, and he intended not to squander it.

The rumble of a motorcycle engine grew in the distance. Genesis sat up a little straighter.

When the familiar head of chocobo-yellow hair strode through the church doors, he swung down from his vantage point. “You’re late, Cloud Strife.”

Cloud shrugged, slipping off his sunglasses and stowing them away. “Turks,” he said.

Impatience swiftly gave way to wariness. “You weren’t followed?” Vincent Valentine’s occasional shadow he would tolerate – ShinRa’s dogs were a different matter.

The irritated glance he received back answered that. Genesis relaxed. Even if he now believed Cloud did not intend to hand him over to ShinRa, carelessness could just as easily achieve the same ends. Apparently being followed twice had been enough to cure _that_.

With a flourish, he proffered the white blossom he’d been fiddling with earlier. “You are forgiven,” he declared magnanimously. Cloud accepted the flower with a baffled expression.

“You shouldn’t waste the flowers,” he said, though there was no real reproach in his tone. The wilted edges excused him, as he knew they would.

“I wouldn’t call it a waste. It’s a present.”

Cloud muttered something about rather having his sunglasses back. Genesis scoffed. “You obviously have plenty to spare.” The sunglasses the man normally donned annoyed him, even though he saw the wisdom in their use. “Where to today?”

“We haven’t checked the inner districts of Sector 3 yet. I thought we’d start there and cross over into Sector 2.”

Genesis nodded his agreement as they headed outside. “Are you going by foot or bike?”

“There’s a clear road from here to the far boundary of Sector 4. I’ll go on foot after that.”

“We’ll meet there, then.”

Genesis loosed his wing and took off into the sky. The sky stretched above him – a clear azure, only faintly hazed by lingering pollution. It made him more visible from the ground, and he would have to watch his shadow, but he could see further, too.

His perception of Cloud kept changing. It made for a novel experience. Genesis was used to gauging people on first impressions alone, and rarely being proven wrong. Humans were, after all, predictable creatures, often wilfully ignorant and criminally un-self-aware.

Cloud Strife, on the other hand, turned out to be endlessly interesting.

Genesis had ulterior motives when arranging this clone-searching venture, certainly – one of those being to cure his ignorance of the current state of affairs. But he couldn’t entirely deny the allure of intelligent company played a part, either. In the years after Sephiroth’s death, there had been Hollander, and copies, and then briefly the other SOLDIERs in DeepGround, poor companions all. Cloud was a far sight better than any of them.

He raked his eyes across the blond’s lithely muscled body. The _sight_ part he meant literally. It had been far too long since he last indulged.

And after discovering the _true_ strength hidden in that form…

His priorities might have changed a little.

The warm breeze tousled his feathers. The leather of his coat slapped his knees as he banked left, keeping a lazy eye on the bike speeding along cracked and damaged roads below. When it stopped and its driver proceeded on foot, Genesis flew ahead, wing beating the air with a heavy, rhythmic thump. He would spot out anything suspicious from the sky, while his counterpart investigated matters on the ground not necessarily visible from above. It worked reasonably well, though the lack of results so far spoke otherwise. He kept with it, though, mostly because he truthfully had no better ideas.

He swooped down three times in the course of the day to direct Cloud to some dwellings he’d spotted which would make reasonable hideouts, then twice more to make sport of the local monsters. The sunlight turned ochre, and his shadow stretched far to the east. The time grew near to finish the search for the day. He contemplated another spar, but decided the monsters earlier had been exercise enough. Another peaceful and boring excursion of ferreting out nothing more than hounds’ lairs and dust bunnies.

“ _The wind sails over the water's surface  
Quietly, but surely..._ ” Genesis murmured to himself. After so many years, the poem had taken on a meditative quality for him, like a mantra. It passed the time while his gaze swept the ruined metropolis for the slightest hint of movement.

The words died in his mouth when he caught sight of the black shadows moving stealthily among the wreckage, not two blocks away from Cloud. He braked sharply, eyes narrowing as he recognised the shock of red hair and smooth skull.

_Turks_.

……………………

Cloud cautiously kicked a stray pebble into the darkened recesses of what might have once been a restaurant. A low growl echoed from the interior. Nothing human, then – just another guard hound protecting its territory.

He straightened and moved on, picking his way through the naked metal frame of the neighbouring building, out onto the rubble-strewn street again. The setting sun beat down on him, warming his back and nearly blinding him with its glare.

He was contemplating putting on his sunglasses when a wave of wind burst over him. He whirled, reaching for his sword, but held his hand at the last minute. Just Genesis.

_Except Genesis wasn’t slowing down_.

A whoosh of breath escaped him as the redhead’s shoulder slammed into his stomach, carrying him clear off the ground. Gravity fought him for him, and for one dizzying moment he was weightless as he slid from Genesis’s shoulder back to earth.

Then arms wrapped around his chest, pinning him in place, and the ground fell away at an alarming rate.

For a moment, terror clawed at his throat – however high the _Shera_ or _Highwind_ flew, it was entirely different when you had nothing but air beneath your feet. And this was easily twice the fall as the one from the Sector 5 Reactor. It would kill _any_ SOLDIER.

“What are you _doing_?” he demanded. “Put me down!”

“Turks,” Genesis warned. “Be quiet.”

It took a moment to orient his gaze well enough to spot the two black suits poking through the wreckage, not two blocks from where he’d just stood. The remains of a three-storey building had covered their escape, but Cloud would have probably hunted them out only a minute or so later otherwise, chasing the sound of their scuffing shoes.

“You didn’t need to pull me out,” he said. “They wouldn’t have thought anything strange about me being in the area.”

“After avoiding them this morning?”

A point. When they’d swung around the bar to try and coerce him into helping with the search  _again_ , he’d claimed a delivery. It _would_ seem suspicious if they stumbled across him in Midgar. And the Turks were high-strung right now – Reno in particular appeared ready to beat anyone who so much as _looked_ at him wrong to death with his electro-rod.

That, however, _did not_ make it okay for Genesis to snatch him up and pull him a hundred metres into the air.

“You’re heavy,” Genesis complained.

“Of course I am,” Cloud grumbled. “I’m still wearing my sword!” The wind whipped at his loose black pants, and his feet treaded air reflexively. He clutched Genesis’s arms, for lack of any other hold.

“You should drop it. It’s the wrong sword for your body type anyway.”

“I can beat _you_ with it,” he muttered under his breath.

Genesis heard anyway. They lurched in the air threateningly. “We haven’t sparred for a couple of days now, have we? Maybe I should teach you a _lesson_.”

The temptation to tell the haughty SOLDIER to ‘come and get it’ bubbled in him for a moment, but he squashed the reflex he instinctively recognised as Zack’s. “Not interested.”

Genesis scoffed, but let the matter drop. They sped towards the setting sun, moving at a more leisurely pace now they were immediately out of sight. The sensation still unnerved him, seeing the ground scroll by so far beneath his feet, nothing supporting him but Genesis’s iron grip around his ribs.

“You could perhaps not hold on so tightly,” Genesis groused. “Heavy as that ridiculously oversized sword of yours might be, I’m hardly going to drop you.”

Consciously, Cloud loosened his hold on the SOLDIER’s arms, leaving heavy creases in the red leather. He wouldn’t apologise – it was Genesis’s fault to begin with. “We’re clear now. Put me down already.”

He got a hum in a response – it vibrated against his shoulders, and Genesis drifted lazily against the wind. Cloud’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. “I don’t think so. I like it up here.”

Then why was he complaining about him being heavy?!

“The sunset is lovely today, after all,” he continued to muse. “And the weather _is_ rather pleasant.”

“Enjoy it on your own, then.”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“It’s uncomfortable,” Cloud deadpanned. He kept a wary eye on the ground. It looked very far away.

“If _that’s_ all you’re complaining about…” Cloud’s breath caught in his throat when suddenly he was _swinging_ through the air, half-falling, until Genesis’s arms reasserted themselves under his knees and back, holding him in a princess carry. “Better?” The SOLDIER smirked at him. He was in complete control of the situation, and worse, _knew it_.

This was marginally _less_ uncomfortable, but Cloud didn’t exactly appreciate it. He could, at least, glare at Genesis, instead of staring at the ground picturing what it felt like to hit it at terminal velocity.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep making that face,” Genesis mocked.

Cloud remained stubbornly frowning.

A warm updraft of wind buffeted them, their path wobbling from side to side until Genesis readjusted, lazily gliding along the currents. From this height, he could see the outer wall of southern Midgar, and look down upon the remains of ShinRa Headquarters as the President must have once looked down on the Plate.

“How do you fly with only one wing anyway?” Cloud asked, more to distract himself than out of any real desire for conversation. He’d never given the matter much thought while fighting Sephiroth, but Cid groused about the impossibility of it to no end.

“Hollander theorised it was due to the mako in a SOLDIER’s bloodstream. While the wing provides enough thrust to direct flight and enough wingspan to glide, aerodynamically, it shouldn’t be enough to get or stay airborne. He recorded low-level materia activity whenever any of us took flight – something in the same wavelength of a Gravity materia.” His lips twisted in amusement. “It would explain why Lazard was such a clumsy flier. Hollander only gave him mako enhancements up to a Third Class level before he took off on his own.” He said _Third Class_ like it was an insult.

Shelke’s general background on Project G filled Cloud in enough to save asking any further questions there, at least – he had a passing knowledge regarding who Hollander and Lazard were. The wind, he noted distractedly, was a lot colder up here. It reminded him of Nibelheim.

“ _As the beast awakens, the Hero sets out_  
Chosen by the Goddess, loved and forsaken  
An oath unfulfilled."

Cloud didn’t feel like playing literary guessing games this high up in the air. Fortunately, Genesis didn’t much seem to care for once. “What do you think?” He bared his teeth in what looked more like a threat than a smile. “How does it feel, to touch the heavens with your bare hands?”

Cloud stared at him. “I’ve been into space,” was all he could come up with in reply.

He earned a raised eyebrow in return. “So the space program went ahead after all. But how did _you_ become part of that?”

“…Long story.”

Genesis sighed. “…The romance of it all really is lost on you, isn’t it?” Before Cloud could process _that_ statement, they banked to the left. Nausea squeezed his throat. Motion sickness?

“Are you done yet?” he asked.

Genesis shrugged. The accompanying sway roiled his stomach.

_Definitely_ motion sickness. Mako treatments apparently didn’t cure him for _flight by one-winged SOLDIERs_.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” he mumbled.

“Throw up and I _will_ drop you,” Genesis threatened.

But the possibility was, apparently, disturbing enough for the SOLDIER to _finally_ wheel back towards the theatre. He set them down just outside the entrance – Cloud wobbled for a moment, putting his head down and squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the far-too-familiar queasiness to subside.

Genesis patted his back with mock affection. “And to think I once mistook you for a SOLDIER.”

Cloud just hunched, hands on his knees, and didn’t reply. Though the words were teasing, sometimes Genesis’s casual barbs struck awfully close to home.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for his equilibrium to re-establish – even if his motion sickness hadn’t _entirely_ left him, his recovery speed almost made a moot point of it. He straightened and took a deep breath. “Now what?”

Their little joy ride through the sky had taken them the rest of the way through sunset, and twilight had begun to set in. Genesis glanced up at the sky, shrugged, then turned to Cloud and said, “I suppose you can stay here the night.”

Cloud hesitated. “…I _should_ be getting back.” Tifa expected him home. “Why didn’t you drop me off back at the bike?”

Genesis gave him a half-lidded stare, the meaning of which he couldn’t decipher. “Habit. Did you want another round?”

…The prospect of another flight so soon made his stomach lurch. But now his bike was nearly two Sectors away. It would be at least two hours before he got back to Fenrir on foot, and near midnight by the time he made it back to Edge – where he would almost certainly have to spend another hour circling the bar, making sure the area was clear of potential lynch mobs before he could return home.

He _could_ navigate Midgar at night, if need be – while the monsters were a little more challenging than the diurnal fauna, they were still within the scope of ‘easy-pickings’. But…

Genesis shrugged. “Your choice.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder that was decidedly coy, and sauntered inside.

Weird. What was that about?

In the end, he tapped out a quick message to Tifa on his phone, and followed the former SOLDIER into the theatre.

Dim as it grew outside, the interior was already dark as midnight. Nonetheless, they made their way through the aisles of the theatre with ease. Genesis leapt up onto the stage in one stride and held out a hand. Cloud gave him an odd look and jumped the short distance under his own steam. He had yet to grasp the SOLDIER’s odd sense of humour.

Brushing his hand on his coat, utterly unbothered by the slight, Genesis drew back the tall red curtain and slipped behind it. “This way.”

Curiosity piqued, Cloud trailed after him, gaze roaming the backstage curiously. While he knew Genesis sheltered in the theatre, he’d never given much thought to where he slept. Heading down a narrow flight of stairs into a musty hallway, he soon understood. The dressing rooms underneath the stage were in even better shape than the theatre itself. Aside from the odd door half-torn from its hinges and patches of walls missing mirrors, he could have been in Edge.

“An unexpected survivor of Midgar’s many calamities,” Genesis explained as he led the way down the dark, narrow corridor. “I used to attend performances here occasionally – it was a hidden house of the arts, one of the few forgotten gems built below-Plate. From back when the city still held promise and wealth and dreams for any with talent.” He paused by one closed door, eyeing it briefly, but passed without opening it. “She also had the benefit of being far less crowded than the theatres on _Loveless Avenue_.”

They stopped outside a door – it might have been green, but the faint blue glow his eyesight cast on everything made it difficult to tell. “I came to pay my last respects,” Genesis continued, “only to discover serendipity’s hand had spared her. And so, I found my new home.” He opened the door with a flourish.

The room they entered was marginally more spacious than the previous ones they passed, and more than adequately furnished. In a display of marvellously precise materia work, Genesis flicked his wrist and lit a series of candles, filling the dressing room with warm orange light and dancing shadows.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he declared, taking a deep bow. “Make yourself at home.”

Cloud was more interested in the materia – he’d never seen such a perfectly controlled flame before – but obligingly took in his surroundings. There wasn’t a lot to see – a large mirror ringed with dead lights sat on the wall, and wedged in the corner was an enormous poster bed with such a ludicrously ornate frame it could have belonged to royalty. Closer inspection revealed chipped paint and polyester dressings instead of silk – stage smoke and mirrors, though the mattress and blankets seemed real enough. A row of mismatched chests and drawers were lined up on the opposite side of the room, and several stacks of books leant against the wall – another close look showed several to be nothing more than painted blocks of foam, but scattered among them were a number of genuine articles.

He still wanted to ask about the materia – aside from Aeris, Cloud hadn’t come across anyone better with it than himself. Instead, he found himself saying, “What do you do for food?”

Genesis gestured vaguely. “Hunt. Scavenge.” He pulled open a drawer full of canned goods. “Some of the preservatives left behind are still good. And when I have gil, I sometimes risk visiting Edge.”

Not the most pleasant of existences, but having spent months on the road running from ShinRa, Cloud understood just how luxurious fresh store-bought food could be. Genesis slid the drawer shut, pulled off his maroon coat, and tossed it to the side. Underneath, he wore a SOLDIER First Class uniform, not terribly unlike the outfit Cloud sported.

Cloud stood in the corner, feeling awkward in a way he couldn’t remember since childhood. For years, his social strata had been broken down into three groups – AVALANCHE, enemies, and strangers. Genesis didn’t quite fit into any of them, and thus he had no idea how he was supposed to act outside of a mission context.

“Your shoes,” Genesis ordered, even as he removed his own boots and gloves with military efficiency.

“What?” Cloud floundered.

“Oh, for Goddess’s sake.” Genesis walked over, steered him to the edge of the bed, and pushed him into a sitting position. He knelt down, fiddled with the zips, then pulled each of Cloud’s boots free with one brisk motion, leaving his feet clad only in black socks. He turned his attention to his sword harness next, Cloud belatedly fumbling to help with the buckles. First Tsurugi was carefully set aside, propped up just out of reach against the wall.

Then Genesis stood back up, placed a firm hand on the back of Cloud’s neck, and pressed their mouths together.

All thought processes ceased.

He didn’t know how to describe the sensation. It was warmth, closeness, an _intimacy_ he couldn’t wholly process beyond the fact that it left him light-headed and unable to focus his mind on anything else. There was no particular taste, just a pleasant pressure, a certain  _firmness_ he’d never experienced with Tifa.

Genesis pulled away for only half a breath before pushing forward again, more insistently this time, deepening the kiss. Cloud’s mouth remained slack under the assault, unresisting in his confusion. Distantly, he became aware of nimble hands unhooking his shoulder guard, of fingers entwining and tugging on his gloves, of brief heat against his bare palms and cool air on his chest as the zip on his shirt was dragged down.

When Genesis’s lips moved their attention to his now-exposed collarbone, Cloud finally managed to gasp out a weak, “What are you doing?”

“I would think, Cloud Strife,” Genesis murmured breathily, “that it would be obvious.” Before he could protest further, he pressed their lips together again.

It felt good. Cloud found his eyes sliding shut as he folded into the embrace, fingers clutching at the back of Genesis’s shirt, the coarse cotton weave stretching in his grip, pulling them closer together. The former SOLDIER obliged, straddling his thighs, wandering hands sending shivers through him wherever they caressed bare skin.

It wasn’t until Cloud felt a tugging at his belt buckle that his thoughts began to clear and were seized by _panic_.

Abruptly, he pushed away, though it more amounted to shoving Genesis off him and halfway across the room. The redhead stumbled from the unexpected force, barely managing to keep his feet.

“Stop,” Cloud said, taking several deep breaths to try and clear his head. “This is…” _Too fast_. “…I don’t understand.”

Genesis raised an eyebrow, straightening his skew shirt with exaggerated nonchalance. “What is there to _understand_? I thought I made my intentions perfectly clear.”

Cloud shook his head, mostly to himself. He just hadn’t _expected_ , from _Genesis_ …

“All that poetry?” the SOLDIER pressed, indignant. “I even gave you _flowers_.”

Genesis was _always_ quoting poetry. How was he supposed to tell _serenading_ from the usual impromptu recitals? And he thought the flowers were a joke! Cloud just shook his head again.

“Are you saying you’re not interested?” he sounded genuinely disbelieving – as though the very  _notion_ of being turned down hadn’t even _occurred_ to him.

“It’s not that,” the words tumbled out of Cloud’s mouth before he could process them. “It’s just…” He groped for an explanation.

Was he even _gay_? He couldn’t think. Thinking on his feet in a battle was one thing. This was something else. He’d never been any good at this sort of situation. This was how Aeris got him into a dress, and then later a date.

“What did you _think_ I was proposing, inviting you here?” Genesis demanded.

In retrospect, he should have caught on if not with the initial invitation, then definitely when Genesis showed him to his room instead of one of the other many abandoned corners of the building. “I… hadn’t considered the possibility,” he muttered. His head was still spinning.

Genesis stared at him in wonder. “You truly _are_ naïve.”

Then he let out a world-suffering sigh, and strode back over to the bed with purpose. Cloud was about to protest again, but Genesis merely threw back the blankets and slid between them, and in one smooth move grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him flat too. The mattress was deceptively soft, and before Cloud could push himself back up on his elbows Genesis had hooked an arm around his chest and pulled the blankets over them both, pinning him loosely in place. “What-”

“Hush,” he ordered. With a click of his fingers, the candle flickered and went out. The room plunged into pitch black. Soft hairs tickled the nape of his neck, and the quiet draw of breath at his back sounded suddenly loud in the dark room.

“For now, we simply sleep,” Genesis murmured. “But I am not a patient man, Cloud Strife. I will be expecting an answer.”

Cloud stared into the darkness, and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

 

 


	13. Chapter 12

 

 

Cloud awoke to pitch black – amazed that he’d been able to fall asleep, given the circumstances, and certain that hours had passed. Genesis’s arm was a lead weight on his side, and the breathing at his back slow and even.

Carefully, he pushed the arm away and slid out from under the covers, fumbling as he felt around for his boots. Genesis let out a disgruntled mumble. Two thin semi-circles of blue light appeared in the darkness. “Cloud?” he slurred. His normally smooth voice had gained a grainy, flinty texture.

“Sorry. I’m heading out. Go back to sleep.” He hesitated, and then added, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” They could talk things over then, after he’d had some time to think.

His words were met with a bleary glare, then Genesis rolled back over, and the twin circles of mako disappeared.

Not even remotely a morning person.

He located his boots near the foot of the bed, then his shoulder pauldron and gloves. His sword harness was the easiest to find, as old habits had him keeping a mental lock on its whereabouts at all times. Once properly dressed, he eased open the door and slipped into the black hallway beyond.

Stars still sparkled overhead when he finally stumbled outside. He fished out his phone, and the time read one-thirty in the morning. It was confusing until he realised they’d gone to sleep well before the time he normally arrived back in Edge.

He contemplated heading back inside for a few hours, at least until it was lighter out, but he was too keyed up. If some of the nocturnal predators took a go at him, for once he’d welcome the chance for a fight.

Fenrir waited for him nearly two sectors away. With a heavy sigh, Cloud started walking through the night. He should have made Genesis fly him back to his bike instead of the theatre while they were still in the air, though the ulterior motives of _that_ move were now obvious. The former Commander was _sneaky_ , he knew that – he just never expected his sneakiness to manifest in _that_ direction.

If he weren't careful, Genesis would steamroll him into his bed just as easily as he'd roped him into clone-searching and sparring and staying until the end of _Loveless_ performances.

Now Cloud needed to decide whether he wanted to let that happen or not.

The idea didn’t disturb him as much as it should have – if anything, the idea felt _more_ natural than trying to force his dysfunctional relationship with Tifa forward. But he was supposed to like girls, right? He was fairly sure he had a crush on Tifa back in Nibelheim, although he’d left right on the cusp of adolescence. He’d thought he’d been in love with Aeris, too, but his feelings towards her were too jumbled with Zack’s and too wrapped up in guilt that he couldn’t be sure anymore whether it had been genuine attraction or just deep friendship.

It made an uncomfortable amount of sense, though. It wasn’t normal for a guy not to respond when a girl – especially a girl like _Tifa_ – all but threw themselves into their bed, right? Not unless they were fundamentally uninterested.

And the more he thought about it, the more he started to wonder if he’d already confronted this question. The two years he’d spent as a cadet and a trooper in ShinRa had the most gaps in his memories, but if he pressed hard he thought he could recall several achingly embarrassing mornings, and being dragged out to Sector 6 and finding his eyes wandering in the wrong directions…

Had he simply _forgotten_?

That brought on another disturbing idea - that perhaps his idolisation of Sephiroth had more to it than simple hero worship.

Cloud wanted to beat his head against a wall.

The scuffle of claws on asphalt gave him pause, and his fingers sought First Tsurugi’s hilt. A pair of ruby-red eyes loped past in the darkness, swinging to focus on him briefly. A growl rumbled from the shadows, but the hell hound continued cautiously past. Hounds were pack creatures. It wouldn’t start a hunt alone.

Cloud relaxed his grip and kept walking.

Genesis was admittedly attractive. Many of his fans back in ShinRa’s glory days were no doubt drawn by his looks alone. And that first kiss…

_Gaia_. He really was seriously considering it.

What about Tifa? And the kids? It wasn’t right. He couldn’t just start-

A screech had him whipping his sword from its holster, slashing at the dark shadow swooping overhead. The screech turned into a scream, and the death gaze tumbled to the ground, leathery wings flapping and twisting awkwardly. Its single massive eye opened wide, the iris seeming to glow-

Cloud speared it, half-burying the blade in the slitted pupil. The shriek died and the glow faded as the body fell limp. His weapon pulled free with a wet squelch. Death gazes could be tricky – the deadlier cousin of the usual ahrimans gracing Midgar’s skies. The quicker you killed them, the better.

He moved on, striding through the darkness. A small flock of vampire bats took a go at him as well, but nothing else bothered him. It took a little under two hours before he finally found his way back to Fenrir. The motorcycle waited for him undisturbed on the empty street, the sharp cold from the metal biting through his gloves. The engine coughed and grumbled unhappily to life when he turned the ignition, and he let it run for a minute to warm up.

He tugged at his gloves, flexing his hand a few times, trying not to recall the sensation of leather being tugged free and fleeting heat against his bare palms. His stomach obliged him with a rumble. Not only had they gone to bed far too early, but neither of them had eaten dinner. Genesis clearly had other ideas on his mind, and in the aftermath they’d both forgotten.

Once the bike had sufficiently warmed up, he kicked Fenrir into gear and drove down one of the many cracked, half-overgrown roads out of Midgar. The engine thundered in the oppressive silence of early morning.

It was a bad idea. The worst. As much time as they’d been spending together, Genesis remained an unknown, unpredictable entity who would attack with the slightest of provocations. He was fickle, paranoid, and maybe even a little crazy – though Cloud was hardly one to judge. Plus the only reason the redhead was even interested was probably due to a spectacular lack of contact with _anyone else_.

Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The horizon lightened to a dark blue, the stars began to disappear, and the half-moon began to sink in the sky. He soon passed Midgar’s looming walls and headed out onto the wastes. The wildlife began to thin – a lack of cover kept smaller fauna away, and without prey there were no predators. Fenrir rumbled into Edge not long before sunrise. The streets were still empty and the buildings dark and silent.

Cloud was turning down the backstreet that led to the garage when a flash of red caught his eye. Reflexively, he turned to look – half expecting to see Vincent’s cloak – then he slammed on the brakes, gravel squealing under Fenrir’s tyres as he spun to a stop.

Bodies. Three of them, strewn across the alleyway.

In pieces.

His stomach turned, but he forced himself to look, to catalogue everything, even as he pulled First Tsurugi from his bike and listened for any signs of movement nearby. The blood still glistened. They hadn’t been dead for long – a couple of hours at the most.

One’s limbs were pulled completely from their sockets – torn flesh and muscles pooled into a puddle of dark mercury under the pale light. The second had his neck broken, head twisted at a grotesque angle, blank eyes staring unseeing into the morning sky. The third’s legs had been snapped, compound fractures at impossible angles, and bore a fist-sized hole all the way through his torso.

All unquestionably dead.

Then he recognised the faces – what had survived unscathed - and his mouth turned dry.

It was the original trio of teenagers who’d been harassing him, calling him out for being a SOLDIER.

The clone had taken his first civilian casualties.

……………………..

He called Reeve. He didn’t have any other choice. He made him promise to keep Tifa out of it though, at least until the bodies had been cleared away. No reason for more people to see than necessary.

The WRO moved quickly, especially given the time of morning, but the Turks were on the scene just as fast. Either Reeve had called them, or they’d tapped someone’s phone. Maybe both. Cloud found it hard to resent their presence though, when they got the area cordoned off before the sun finished rising. Less than two hours later, they’d gathered the evidence and had the bodies shipped off to the morgue, to learn as much as they could before they dissipated into the Lifestream.

It was actually a little disturbing how efficient they were at it.

Cloud waited on his bike as the WRO and Turks finished up – stomach still churning at the memory of the sight. Rude stood a short distance away, supervising the last of the clean-up. Reno was talking on his phone next to him. Cloud watched them warily.

Especially when the redhead suddenly stiffened, snapped his phone shut, and whirled towards Cloud.

Surprise rooted his feet to the ground as the Turk advanced on him, snarling, “You traitorous _bastard_!”

Cloud’s hand snapped up – his gloves the only protection from the stinging bite of Reno’s electro rod. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“That’s my line! I can’t believe you piece of _trash-_ ” Reno swung again.

He slapped the weapon aside with his knuckles, the force of the blow sending it spinning from the Turk’s grasp. Reno swore viciously, and a flash of silver glinted in his hand as he flipped open a pocket knife instead. He attacked with surprising speed, jabbing and slicing, but Cloud twisted easily out of the way, eyes tracking the lightning-quick flash of the blade.

He was about to reach for his sword when Rude stepped in, grabbing his partner in an arm lock. “Oi! Rude! The hell?! Let me go!”

“Reno,” Rude said warningly, and then murmured something in his ear, too low for even Cloud’s advanced hearing to catch.

“That’s _bullshit_ ,” Reno snarled.

Rude muttered something else.

Whatever he said, it must have got through, as Reno slumped in his grasp. “Okay, _fine_ , I get it.” He flashed Cloud a venomous look – the kind of expression he hadn’t seen on the Turk since pre-Meteor days – then slunk towards one of the vans cordoning off the area.

Cloud massaged his knuckles, working out the pins and needles from its brush with the electro-rod. Reno must have had it on maximum for any of it to cut through his gloves.

A moment later, Rude came up to him. “Mind telling me what that was about?” Cloud asked with a scowl.

As always, it was difficult to tell what the Turk was thinking with his business expression on, eyes hidden behind dark shades. Though Cloud shouldn’t talk – he’d slipped _his_ sunglasses on after calling Reeve and hadn’t taken them off since.

“We I.D.’d the victims,” Rude said abruptly. “Three teenagers. WRO’s security branch had them down for several misdemeanours. No confirmation yet, but they were known for frequenting the area outside Seventh Heaven.”

Cloud tensed, and did his best not to react.

“Oi, Rude!” Reno called, tone still sour. He tossed over his phone. “Tseng.”

Rude caught the phone one-handed and held it to his ear. There was a long silence. “Yes.” A longer silence. “Right.”

Cloud hopped back on Fenrir – it looked like they were finishing up, and by the glares Reno kept shooting his way, it was clear he wasn’t wanted. As he turned the ignition, though, Rude hung up and turned towards him. “Strife.”

He waited.

“Tseng has requested you stick around town for a few days. To help with the investigation.”

His stomach turned to ice, and Reno’s flip out suddenly made sense.

He knew this development would be bad. Things were already in a precarious balance, a powder keg ready to blow with the slightest spark. The only thing that had been keeping everyone calm was the lack of civilian involvement.

But _this_ wasn’t something he ever anticipated. _These_ civilians… Clones were supposed to go after him, or his loved ones. Not his _enemies_.

And Cloud didn’t have an alibi.

 

 


	14. Chapter 13

 

 

A week passed. Cloud was interviewed twice, once by some of the WRO’s people, the second time by Tseng. He stuck to the flimsy story he’d messaged Tifa – running late on the way back from a delivery run, he had decided to camp under the stars. No one could verify it, but changing it would have just had them wondering what he was trying to hide.

Another week passed. He took a couple of local deliveries, then one to Kalm. A black van tailed him for the entire trip, remaining a polite distance behind. In the rear view mirror, he caught a glimpse of a bald head and sunglasses. Rude.

Cloud kept to Edge after that.

It _was_ nice spending more time with Marlene and Denzel – though the novelty had worn off for them after the first couple of days. Both Yuffie and Barret were in town too. Between Tifa taking advantage of his increased presence, and Yuffie wheedling him about his materia stash every chance she got, and Barret joining him for drinks and talking too loudly at him about the new developments in Corel and oil prospecting and how Marlene was growing up so smart - yeah, he was kept busy.

It felt forced, though. Nobody wanted to acknowledge the tonberry in the corner, shuffling closer, one inevitable step at a time.

Cloud slipped his sunglasses on before heading downstairs, their weight comforting on the bridge of his nose. The bar wasn’t open yet, but the habit had been ingrained by now. Besides, if Tifa asked him to go out to get something, or the kids wanted to go play, better he not forget at the door.

This was his new routine. It felt as though all that time roaming Midgar with Genesis had been nothing more than a dream. In his more paranoid moments, he wondered if he’d simply imagined it.

“Cloud?” Tifa must have heard his steps on the stairs. She smiled at him – not the easy, confident grin she normally shared, but the soft, almost hopeful one he’d come to dread. “I wasn’t sure you were still here. Do you have some time?”

“Where are the kids?” he asked.

She stared pointedly at the clock. “School.”

Right. Easy to forget schools were running in Edge again. Normally, he’d be gone before the kids left and home long after they got back.

Tifa still had that expression. “I’m going out,” he said.

Her face fell. “When will you be back?”

“Not long.” Not like he could go far. Then, because the guilt gnawed at him, asked, “Is there anything you need?”

“We’re running low on sugar and butter, if you’re near a store.”

He nodded and headed outside, unable to stand her expression any longer.

_Tifa, I think I’m cheating on you._

Except he couldn’t be, really. He hadn’t really _done_ anything with Genesis – hadn’t even _agreed_ to anything. And strictly speaking, had he ever formally said he was going out with Tifa, either?

Just thinking about it left him nauseated. And whenever he wasn’t feeling guilty about lying to _Tifa_ , he felt bad for leaving everything with Genesis up in the air, too. All he could do was try to push it out of his mind, and focus on something – _anything_ – else.

The sun was bright outside, the weather so cheerful it felt like it was mocking him. It gave him a good excuse to wear his sunglasses, at least – an excuse no one would question. It didn’t make much of a difference anymore, though. Leaving the bar gave him an escape from Tifa, but nothing else. The tension in Edge had become unbearable. And while he was careful to remember his sunglasses, word got around regardless. Whispers and dirty looks dogged his every footstep. Fear seemed to be the only thing holding back another confrontation.

After all, the last group who picked a fight were torn apart.

Fenrir waited for him in the garage, its gleaming chrome and steel body a welcome sight, even though he couldn’t take it for the sort of drive it was designed for today. The engine growled like a coeurl when he turned the ignition, angry at being awoken. Cloud let it idle as he slipped a couple of his swords into the compartments – the rest still safely upstairs in his room at Seventh Heaven – then peeled out of the garage.

He didn’t have any real need to get out – it was more to fight off cabin fever and avoid the spike of guilt he felt every time he looked at Tifa. Best to make the most of his errand. He could buy what Tifa wanted just down the road, but he could also buy it on the other side of Edge.

He opened up the throttle, Fenrir’s speed creeping up until the wind buffeted his face and raked cool fingers through his hair. The streets were busy, but far from crowded – only the area around the WRO or Neo-ShinRa headquarters suffered any real traffic, and Cloud didn’t relish visiting either of those places. By far the nicest thing about driving his bike though was that he moved too fast for people to notice him. On the road, even on a custom bike like Fenrir, he was as normal as everyone else.

Lost in the comfortable, automatic motions of riding his bike, Cloud didn’t realise anything was wrong until he came to his first corner.

His fingers tapped the brake.

Fenrir didn’t slow down at all.

Alarmed, he yanked the bike to the side at the last moment, his whole body leaning into the curve. Gravel crunched under the tyres and horns blared in surprise as he took the corner at speed. With a wrench, he threw his body weight back again, pulling the bike upright without touching the accelerator.

This time, he jammed the brake hard.

Nothing.

His brakes weren’t working.

_His brakes weren’t working_.

He cruised for another moment more, passing cars in a burst of wind and colour, thoughts racing even faster as he considered his options. The brakes wouldn’t work, but he could still shut off the engine. Coast to a stop. If he could just make it somewhere clear enough…

He leaned and pushed, weaving in and out and the traffic, steering with his whole body, adrenaline surging as he sought out every gap in the traffic. A car slowed down to turn. He veered into the opposite lane, pulling back half a breath before a truck coming the other way could wipe him out. The cars around him lurched to a stop in confusion, but he was already halfway down the block, wind whipping at his clothes. He just needed _space_ , a gap, a few hundred metres to let his speed drop-

Then a truck pulled across the next intersection, turning into the road, and he didn’t have time to look anymore.

With a wrench, he killed the ignition – Fenrir barked in protest – and pulled into the steepest, sharpest slide he could manage – anything to slow him down, even a little. The tires squealed. He slammed his left foot down, dragging it along the road surface, the friction shaking him to the bone. Pedestrians shrieked, horns blared in warning, the truck driver panicked and hit the brakes and somehow, Cloud managed to angle his slide to avoid careening straight into the side of the flatbed.

He didn’t quite make it. His exhaust clipped the corner, and the bike was thrown into a spin – he tossed himself clear and hit the bitumen, bouncing and rolling for what felt like an eternity before sliding to a stop. Fenrir spun onwards, smashing into a metal rubbish skip left on the sidewalk. The screech of clashing metal shouted in his ears until finally, everything settled.

The street fell silent - the few bystanders witness to the accident shocked into stillness.

Cloud bit back a groan and forced himself up. For one sickening moment, the world smeared before his eyes, colours too bright and bleeding into each other. He shook it back, struggling for focus. The back of his shirt was torn. Harsh grazes covered his arms in their entirety – his hands only saved by his now badly scuffed leather gloves. He ached everywhere, but it didn’t feel like he’d broken anything. If his bones could handle falling from a height of fifty metres through a church roof, a motorcycle crash wouldn’t do it.

Sweat trickled down the side of his face, getting in his left eye – irritably, he swiped at it, and realised it was blood. From hitting his head on the ground as he landed. The wound itched – mako at work, trying to heal it.

He fumbled for his sunglasses, knocked clear from his face by the tumble. They were smashed, the lenses and plastic little more than shards across the ground. Blearily, he wondered if he had any more spares left back at Seventh Heaven.

Focus. He had to _focus_. Priorities.

Fenrir was a very well-maintained motorcycle. Brakes did not just stop working on their own without warning.

It wasn’t safe.

He stumbled over to the bike, tossing aside some loose bits of lumber that had fallen from the skip, ignoring the cars stopped at the intersection and the stunned onlookers. It would have taken a team of normal people to get Fenrir upright again, but with the rush of adrenaline pouring through his system, Cloud hefted it easily.

The sword compartments had been damaged – he had to wrench them open by hand. People had started forward to help, but shied away when they saw him sling the heavy sword into its harness.

Good. He was armed, now, and not to be taken lightly, despite any injuries. He eyed the gathering crowd warily, even as a headache throbbed behind his eyes. No one dared approach.

It didn’t look as though anyone else had been injured, thankfully – he’d made sure of that much. The truck had some dents and lost some paint, but nothing serious. The metal rubbish skip had been heavy enough to stop the runaway bike in its tracks before anyone else could get involved.

Cautiously, one eye kept on his surroundings, he checked Fenrir over. The bike was unusually tough, but the front bodywork was badly scratched and dented, and the rear exhausts had been mangled. A quick test of the ignition produced nothing more than some weak clicks from the starter.

He hadn’t made it that far from Seventh Heaven – several blocks at the most.

Heedless of the blood still soaking into the collar of his shirt, ignoring the itch in his arms as mako tried to heal his bruises and grazes, Cloud started pushing Fenrir home. One hand on the hilt of his sword at all times.

…………………….

Right there, before his eyes, lay the naked evidence. The line to the brakes, cut perfectly clean.

Disgusted, he tossed the wires away. Aside from the sword compartments and some minor engine work, the function of the bike wasn’t too severely impacted. He could fix it himself in a day or two. The bodywork, though…

The worst part was that he didn’t even know who he could blame for it. His list of enemies seemed impossibly long lately, and the garage wasn’t particularly well-protected – Fenrir wasn’t something easily stolen, since it would take a rare individual to drive it. He’d been careful to try and avoid too many people taking note of where he parked it, but if someone had been determined enough… it wasn’t that hard to follow the distinctive sound of the engine.

With a sigh, he left the garage, heading through the back entrance of Seventh Heaven, already morose mood soured. As soon as he entered, voices floated from the front. One sounded like Nanaki – the other, Cid.

“Cloud?” Tifa called. “Is that you? You’re back ear-” Her words dissolved into a gasp as she caught sight of him. “Cloud! What happened?!”

Belatedly, he realised it hadn’t been a good idea to barge into Seventh Heaven with torn clothes and blood matting his hair.

Cid and Nanaki came over, drawn by her reaction, cutting off Cloud’s escape route to the stairs. Cid nearly spat out his cigarette. “The hell?!”

“Cloud!” Nanaki’s fur began to bristle as though he were priming for combat. “Were you attacked?!”

“Just an accident,” he explained shortly. “Nothing to worry about.”

That calmed them, though Tifa’s face was still contorted in a pained-looking frown as she checked him over, making an unhappy hum under her breath. Cid eyed him, and asked gruffly, “You need a Cure on that? I ain’t got a Restore handy.”

Cloud _did_ have a Restore, but didn’t see the point. “It’s already mostly taken care of.” More importantly… “What are you doing here?”

The pilot grunted, gesturing towards Nanaki with his cigarette. “Playing damn taxi service for Reeve, that’s what. He wants me to go round up the whole bleeding gang. That’s a round-the-world trip, you know! Fuel don’t grow on goddamn trees!”

“Barret can hook you up with a deal,” Tifa took a break from her fussing to point out.

“He’d better.” Cid went on complaining under his breath, though it lacked any real heat. The pilot complained, but they all knew he’d take any excuse to fly.

But rounding up AVALANCHE? What for? “What does Reeve want?”

“Hell if I know,” Cid grumbled. “Do I look like a fuckin’ WRO employee to you?”

“Reeve _does_ order you around a lot,” Nanaki said.

“You wanna _walk_ home when we’re done? ‘Cause that’s what it’s soundin’ like.”

Maybe a precaution, with the clone situation. It made sense. Cloud was honestly surprised Reeve hadn’t called everyone in earlier.

It left him uncomfortable though, that he hadn’t heard anything about it before now.

His diversion didn’t waylay Tifa for long. “It’s not like you to crash. How did it happen?”

“Mechanical failure.” She didn’t look convinced, and Nanaki’s gaze turned shrewd, so he shouldered past them to the stairs before either of them could ask anything more. “I should go clean up.”

…………………….

“Mechanical failure my ass,” Cid groused as soon as Cloud stepped back into the garage.

The pilot was crouched next to the bike, toolbox open, and judging by the mess of tools decorating the concrete had been there for a while now. Cloud had been inside, changing his clothes and digging in the back of his closet for his last spare pair of sunglasses and washing all the blood off his skin and out of his hair. Then he’d had to put up with Tifa’s worried hovering until the kids arrived home and distracted her long enough for him to slip out to the garage to start repairing his bike.

He’d been too slow, obviously. He should have known that Cid would never stay away from an engine in need of fixing.

“Who the hell did this?” Cid demanded. “You havin’ trouble?”

There was no good answer. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You shittin’ me? The hell it doesn’t matter! You’re about the only person on the planet who could walk their own damn bike back after someone _cut the fuckin’ brake lines!_ ”

“It could be anyone,” Cloud replied. “Ex-SOLDIERs aren’t exactly popular in Edge right now.”

Cid didn’t have an answer for that, and puffed on his cigarette angrily. “…That damn DeepGround shit, huh? Knew there’d be some kinda crap from that.”

“The tank still has fuel in it, you know,” Cloud said with a pointed look at Cid’s cigarette. The pilot swore and dropped it on the ground, hastily crushing the stub with his heel.

“It’s a solid machine, at least. And the brake line’s an easy fix,” Cid muttered, covering up his mistake with shop talk. “And you can probably panel-beat most of the exhausts back into shape. That one at the top’s gotta be replaced, though. That’ll be fuckin’ expensive.”

Cloud made a small sound of agreement, already sorting through his box of spare parts for some of the materials he knew he’d need.

“The latches here at the front are busted too. How the hell did that happen?”

“The compartments were jammed,” he explained. “And I had to get my sword out.”

Cid swore up a blue streak that would have made _Barret_ blush. He finished with something along the lines of, “-And you just broke it open with your fuckin’ _hands_?”

Cloud shrugged, and crouched down on the other side of the bike, loosening the bolts so he could get to the engine interior.

“You’re damn scary, kid, you know that?”

It wasn’t something he appreciated being reminded of.

Cid muttered to himself some more, then set about yanking the offending brake line out, examining it in critical disbelief one last time before tossing it away. “It’s fuckin’ extreme, if you ask me. DeepGround shit or not, ain’t no way you coulda pissed off someone _that_ bad.” He eyeballed him. “Seriously, kid, you in some real trouble here?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said. All he could do was keep his head down, after all. None of these were issues he could figure out how to solve with a sword, or he would have done so already. “Don’t tell Tifa.”

Cid grunted at that, but thankfully, didn’t disagree.

…………………….

The remarkable thing about not being human, Nanaki mused, was that people tended to forget that your senses were so much better than theirs. Unless he was at the table, talking to them, he fell into the background, beneath their notice.

Twenty years ago, when he was younger and hot-headed and still angry at his father and bursting with righteousness and pride, it might have bothered him. But after that stint in Hojo’s care, he’d come to appreciate the advantages it gave him.

He shuffled a little closer to the Turk’s corner – still three tables away, but close enough to hear them through the din in the rest of the bar. All of AVALANCHE were in town, called there by Reeve to discuss something. Nanaki didn’t like the sound of it, and wanted to do a bit of eavesdropping.

“It’s _bullshit_ ,” Reno snarled. “I don’t give a _fuck_ what Rufus says about public relations-”

“We shouldn’t discuss this here,” Tseng warned.

“To hell with that! They’re gonna find out anyway,” Reno growled. “I want _answers_ , yo!”

“You’re being irrational. If you can’t control yourself, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Tseng replied, voice low and even. “We’re only here for reconnaissance.”

“I still think it’s a crap idea. The boss-man’s grasping at straws.” His knuckles turned white around his electro rod. “Has he forgotten what kind of guy we’re dealing with?”

“If Reeve can convince Miss Lockhart, it won’t be any strain on our resources at all,” Tseng countered.

“It ain’t gonna work out like that,” Reno argued. “I like Tifa-doll nearly as much Rude here-” Rude cleared his throat at that. “-But she ain’t gonna be on our side on this one. This is _Turk_ business.”

“What are you jerks talking about?” Yuffie demanded, barrelling her way into the conversation.

“Nothing that involves _you_ , princess,” Reno sneered. He twisted the formal title into derisive jeer with casual ease.

Too bad that sort of thing never worked on Yuffie these days. She just stuck her tongue out at him. “You bastards never change. I heard Tifa’s name. I wanna know!”

The Turks were far too professional to let any reaction slip, but Nanaki’s keen eye could see the new tension in their muscles, could smell the shift in scent as their adrenaline ran high.

Then Tseng sighed, and said, “Reno, it’s unprofessional to gossip about people where you can be overheard.”

Reno blinked, and then his face stretched into a sly grin. “C’mon, Tseng, loosen up! You can’t say you ain’t wondered.” He slouched in his chair. “Hey, princess, what do you think? Reckon those two will ever get married?”

It worked like a charm – the suspicion vanished from Yuffie’s stance, replaced by eager conspiracy. “No way in hell!”

Tseng was _good_. Vincent and Cloud had said as much in the past, but rare were the opportunities for Nanaki see him at work for himself. He’d subtly rebuked Reno and provided a smooth segue into a safer topic all in the same sentence.

“What makes you say that?” Tseng asked, nothing but mild curiosity in his tone. “I thought it was a given they were an item.”

“Oh _sure_ , but it’s never gonna work. Even _they_ know that. They just don’t know how to break up,” Yuffie said, in a voice far too matter-of-fact for the situation.

Reno burst out laughing. Nanaki wondered if he were the only who noticed how strangled it sounded.

Apparently Yuffie didn’t. “What? It’s true.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s hard to break up when you weren’t ever officially together in the first place. It’s not _my_ fault they can’t communicate.”

“Who made you such an expert on relationships, yo?” Reno sniggered.

“Gawd, I have _eyes_. I thought you jerks were supposed to be _good_ at spying!”

With some amusement, Nanaki noticed Rude almost looked hopeful for a moment, before straightening his tie and settling his expression back into stern neutrality.

It would have been interesting, had Tifa been along for that particular reconnaissance mission in Gongaga instead of back with the dune buggy. Human affairs made no sense to him sometimes, even growing up alongside them in Cosmo Canyon. Instinct told him it would be far less messy if everyone were to state their intentions openly and the matter could simply be duelled out. Strongest wins.

Though perhaps his opinion was influenced, as he was fond of Cloud, and Cloud was _always_ strongest.

The Turks fell abruptly silent when the door opened and the object of their speculation walked in, sunglasses on and a box under his arm – back from running an errand for Tifa. Nanaki was pleased to see the last sign of his cuts and grazes had already disappeared, but then, Cloud _did_ heal a great deal faster than the rest of them.

“Cloud!” Yuffie called, abandoning her gossip circle with the Turks and bouncing over to him.

“I’m not carrying any materia,” he said before the girl could hug him.

It was a lie, of course – at this distance, Nanaki could sense the presence of several materia in his pockets, though not clearly enough to identify the type. He still needed to work on that, apparently.

Regardless, it stopped Yuffie in her tracks, and she settled for following him to the back of the bar, chattering about the latest developments in Wutai and this totally cool monster whose ass she had totally kicked. They soon wandered out of earshot.

The table remained silent for a long minute. Nanaki flicked his tail, letting his good eye wander the bar, all while keeping an ear turned towards them.

Reno, of course, was the one to break the silence. “Elena deserves better than this.”

Tseng remained nonplussed. “You’re jumping to conclusions. And even if you’re correct, he might not necessarily have been in control. He’s been acting unusual for some time now.”

There was a dark silence as Reno chewed on that. Eventually, he shoved his beer away with a scoff.

“Yeah, well, guess I’m the only one who remembers what happens when SOLDIERs start acting all reclusive and unusual, huh? ‘Cause that always goes _so_ well.”

“Reno-”

“ _He_ was a hero too,” Reno snapped back.

Tseng closed his eyes and took a long sip of his drink. “Which is why we’re taking precautions.”

Reno glowered, then folded his arms and looked away. “…He ain’t ever gonna agree to it.”

Rude nodded.

Tseng merely sighed. The shadows under his eyes had become a permanent feature since Elena’s death. “He won’t have a choice.”

They left not long after that. Nanaki waited a reasonable amount of time, then stood and stretched, startling one the patrons sitting nearby.

That had not sounded good at all. He sniffed the air, searching for the faint whiff of brimstone to lead him to their resident Turk expert. Hopefully Vincent would know more.

 

 


	15. Chapter 14

 

 

Several days had passed since Cloud’s crash. Tifa had been thankfully too busy to fret over it, or over Cloud’s hermit-like behaviour since. Seventh Heaven had been packed with visitors almost every day thanks to all of the old crew being in town.

“Nanaki, are you in here?” Tifa poked her head into the back room, where Nanaki had curled up between the stock boxes. “Oh, good. Come on, we’ve been called to a meeting by Reeve. Yuffie and Vincent are already on their way.”

With a yawn that showed off his impressive canines, Nanaki stood and stretched, back arching to impossible angles. Tifa’s lips twitched in amusement – even after so long, it still sometimes surprised her to see their friend display such animal habits. Though really, it should have seemed stranger how many _human_ habits he’d picked up. He didn’t have at all the right facial features or body for some of them.

As they headed back through the front of the bar, Nanaki asked, “Shouldn’t Cloud come along? He’s just upstairs.”

Tifa’s brow creased with worry. “Reeve only asked for us. It’s a bit strange… I guess maybe he’s worried about upsetting Cloud.” She lowered her voice. “You know, if it’s about the clone.” A tiny part of her hoped Reeve might know what exactly it was that had her childhood friend acting so strange and distant lately, too.

“All the more reason he should come along,” Nanaki said. His expression was troubled – his shoulders hunched and the fur along his back bristling slightly. “What about Barret?”

“I called him already. He’s going to meet us there.”

Nanaki still looked bothered. It bothered Tifa a little too, but she was sure Reeve had good reasons.

They headed out the back to the garage where an old black beaten pickup waited. It was cheap and pockmarked with rust, but she only really used it when both Cloud and Barret were out of town. She opened the passenger door for Nanaki. “Watch your tail.”

Nanaki leapt up onto the seat and settled on his haunches, flaming tail curled carefully around his body. Once he was in Tifa headed around to her side, and a moment later the pickup coughed and shuddered to life.

It took them nearly half an hour to drive to the WRO headquarters in the midday traffic. Edge kept expanding, the initial mass exodus to Junon and Kalm and other smaller settlements slowly reversing, though Tifa felt sure it would never become anything as massive as Midgar. She rolled down the windows, and Nanaki shifted so his face caught the breeze, though stopped shy of sticking his head out the window. Preservation of dignity, most likely – she’d heard him admit to Cloud before that he liked the feel of the wind through his fur.

The WRO offices were, as always, crowded and busy. The receptionist ushered them through to a meeting room as soon as they arrived. Cid, Barret, Yuffie, and Vincent were already inside. Chairs surrounded the conference table, but only Barret was sitting down.

“Tifa!” Barret boomed in greeting. Cid grunted and nodded in her general direction.

“Heya Teefs!” Yuffie waved spasmodically at her, even though they’d last crossed paths only the day before. “And Red, too!”

“Hi Yuffie,” Tifa replied with a smile. “Where’s Reeve?”

“Not here, obviously,” Cid grumbled. “It’s damn rude, callin’ us all here and not showin’ up.”

Barret shrugged, helping himself to the bowl of nuts in the middle of the table. “He’s a busy man.” Barret, Tifa thought to herself, truly _had_ mellowed these past couple of years. Once upon a time he would have been banging his gun arm on the table and shouting if he had to wait more than five minutes.

Reeve came in at that moment, waving away his secretary. He was dressed, as always, in a slightly ill-fitting dark blue business suit. His black hair and finely trimmed beard and moustache had become peppered with grey, and though his countenance was naturally stern, he always seemed to manage to soften his features enough around AVALANCHE to look like everyone’s favourite uncle.

It didn’t really work. Tifa _still_ had trouble associating him with the perky robot cat and giant white mog they’d travelled with.

“Hello everyone. I see you all made it. Good, good, please, take a seat…” Reeve greeted them. He seemed a little flustered, as though he’d been pulled out of a project. Or was nervous about something. As she sat down, Tifa watched him carefully for the usual tells – slightly jerky movement, stiff facial expressions – that would give him away as a puppet. Nothing. Either his animatronics were getting better, or this was the real deal.

He fussed about with his papers for a moment before taking a seat himself, dark, steely gaze resting on each of them in turn. Tifa met it squarely, but she hadn’t met Reeve in the flesh often enough to get a good read on his mood through eye contact alone.

“What the hell’s this all about, eh?” Cid complained. “I ain’t got time to sit around and chin wag all damn day.

“Of course,” Reeve said, and spread his palms flat on the table. Taking a deep breath, he announced, “The WRO is taking all former SOLDIERs into custody.”

For a long moment, all he received in response was a series of blank looks – except from Vincent, who didn’t so much as twitch from his spot leaning next to the door.

“So?” Barret rumbled. “Not like there’s any of them left, are there?”

“There are a few,” Reeve said. “Mostly in Junon. A couple of mako addicts. In light of the ongoing situation with the clone and the public response, we didn’t have any choice.”

“Wait a minute!” Yuffie jolted to her feet. “Are you including _Cloud_ in this?!”

Reeve’s silence was damning. Alarm rushed through Tifa, her suddenly racing heart a silent siren of rising fear. “Are you serious, Reeve? He was never in SOLDIER.”

“That’s a technicality at this point, I’m afraid.” He sounded regretful. “After the DeepGround uprising, there’s a lot of distrust towards former SOLDIERs. If members of the public take it upon themselves to become vigilantes…”  
  
“So who exactly are you protectin’, there?” Barret demanded. “The damn SOLDIERs or the damn civvies?”

“It’s not that bad, is it Reeve?” Tifa asked. She folded her arms, not sure if she wanted to protect herself from what she was hearing or to hold herself in from lashing out. That they were even _thinking_ about this…

Cid had gone conspicuously silent. Tifa eyed him suspiciously, and he all but squirmed in his chair. “What?”

Barret and Yuffie were eying him now too. “You know something, old man! Spill it!” the ninja princess ordered.

“I don’t know shit!”

“Hell you don’t!” Barret thundered. Barrett didn’t _do_ ‘inside-voice’. They glared at each other, though Cid’s eyes kept darting to her almost nervously.

“Cid,” Tifa said in as level a voice as she could muster. “Please tell us if you know something. This is important.”

Cid scowled, but his shoulders sagged, and she knew they’d won. “He didn’t want to say anythin’ ‘bout it, okay? Didn’t want anyone to know, but he’s been getting some serious crap. That crash of his was no accident.”

Tifa felt herself grow pale at the memory. Her fists clenched, knuckles turning white and fingernails digging painfully into her palms.

It had been bad enough, thinking it was just a motorcycle accident. But someone had _done_ that to Cloud…?

The silence was suffocating. Reeve cleared his throat, and he might as well have been banging a gavel. “That was largely what spurred us to take this step. No one was hurt this time-”

“ _Cloud_ was hurt!” Nanaki interjected with a snarl. Tifa could have almost made the same sound right then.

“No one was _seriously_ hurt,” Reeve amended, “But it could have gone much worse, and the longer the current situation is left unresolved, the higher the chance it _will_.”

“So what exactly are you suggestin’ then?” Barret demanded. “Get to the damn point already!”

Reeve took a deep breath, and said, “As I said. We want to take him into protective custody.”

The room fairly _exploded._

“No way!” Yuffie looked about ready to break out her shuriken. “You want to lock him up?!”

“The fuck?!” Cid, of course.

“Reeve!” Nanaki growled.

Tifa set her mouth in a firm line and slammed her hand down on the table. It shuddered from the force, but didn’t crack. “Have you lost your _mind_?!”

Vincent just watched in silence.

Reeve sighed, as though he’d expected this response. “I didn’t want to mention this, but it’s more than just the motorcycle crash. Those three civilians who were murdered, well… They weren’t simply random victims. We have reports that they’d been giving Cloud a hard time.”

Tifa felt her fiery indignation turn to ice. Slowly, she sank back into her chair, numb. Barret, Cid, and Yuffie did the same.

“You mean… you think…” Yuffie’s lower lip trembled. For that one moment, she looked sixteen again, instead of a young woman in her early twenties.

Tifa shook her head. “Cloud would _never…_ ”

“I don’t think Cloud would _normally_ … but I’m afraid to say, it really doesn’t look good from this angle. He doesn’t have an alibi for _either_ of the… occurrences.” Reeve hastened to explain. “You must admit, Cloud hasn’t always been entirely in _control_ in the past, and with the presence of a clone on the scene…”

That was a terrifying thought for the truth contained within it. The others were starting to look grim, if still uncertain. It had been a long time since anything like that had happened of course, but they never had any guarantees…

Was _this_ why Cloud had been so withdrawn lately? She’d wanted to know why, but for it be something like _this_ …

The seed of doubt began to grow. He’d been gone a lot, up until the past few weeks. More than his usual delivery schedule allowed. He’d been coming home late every night, and when he _was_ home he acted distant and kept to himself. Not just with her – with _everybody_. Even Vincent.

Nanaki looked around at them, eye wild and ears flattened against his skull. “I don’t believe you!” he snarled. “Cloud is our _friend_!”

“That ain’t fair, Red,” Barret grumbled. “’Course we trust Spikey, but you know he ain’t always all there and all that. We gotta be prepared to step in if he ain’t entirely himself!”

“No! This is wrong!” Nanaki burst out, and spun in place. Vincent moved, opening the door just before he could crash directly through it. There were cries of surprise outside.

“Nanaki!” Tifa half-stood to go after him.

Vincent spoke up for the first time that meeting. “Let him be. He’s still young by his race’s standards, don’t forget. He’ll need some time to calm down.”

Right, it was easy to forget how child-like Nanaki could be sometimes, and besides, there was little hope of catching up to him – he ran fast enough to keep up with a _car_ when he got moving. Tifa worried briefly about what might happen if he ran into traffic, but sternly reminded herself that Nanaki wasn’t a hound – he knew how to avoid being run over.

Reluctantly, she sat back down. “I still don’t know…” she said. “It seems like an over-reaction, to just lock him up because of all that… I mean, we don’t have any proof, do we?”

“If we wait until we have proof,” Reeve said, “Then it might be too late. We cannot afford another incident. Nobody acted in time in the past. Not for Rhapsodos, not for Hewley, and not for Sephiroth. Even if the chance is remote, we can’t ignore the warning signs.” He paused, and added carefully, “They were all heroes once, too.”

The silence stretched and grew dense, heavy with unspoken history and fears.

“…I don’t like it,” Cid grunted. “Just because he’s got a bit of the same damn gunk floating around in him as they did-”

“I’m not saying we’re going to throw him into jail just for having S-cells,” Reeve protested. “It’ll be more of a secure safe house. Mostly as a precaution, as much for his benefit as it is for the general populace. It would keep him out of the public eye, and if there were _any_ issues, with the clone or S-cells or _otherwise_ , then help would be on hand immediately.” He straightened the papers in front of him, though they didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter at hand. “I wanted to discuss it all with you first before I proposed it to Cloud, though. We’ll need to talk it through and explain everything properly, and you’ll see it really isn’t so bad as it sounds. It’s only going to be a temporary measure, after all. Just to be sure. Probably only a couple of weeks, a few months at the most, until things are sorted out and settle down.”

Tifa’s hands were shaking in her lap. She clenched them into fists, summoning strength from emotional reserves already wrung dry.

Her instinct was to rail against it, but she remembered how Cloud had walked in a week ago, clothes torn and covered in blood. How he’d check the windows and doors when he came in every night, and wouldn’t go outside without wearing his sunglasses. It seemed like an age ago now since she’d convinced him to go to the theatre with her, and even then they’d argued about him wearing them inside.

Most of all, though, she remembered that dull, dead look in his eyes as he shuffled away from them, reaching out to Sephiroth, Black Materia in his grasp. She recalled the expression of horror on his face when he’d realised he’d tried to attack Aeris.

Cloud wouldn’t want it to come to that. And if it were only going to be for a short while…

Miraculously, her voice came out steady. “…What exactly did you have in mind?”

……………………

Three weeks.

Genesis was going to kill him.

Cloud slipped his sunglasses into his pocket as the bedroom door shut behind him, but didn’t put them on just yet. He ghosted down the staircase, stepping lightly to avoid announcing his presence prematurely.

Since the crash, he’d become something of a hermit – only going out when Tifa specifically requested it of him. He’d spent a good chunk of the past week in the garage, fixing Fenrir, but was growing bored even of that. What he _really_ wanted was to take the bike and get out of town, head into Midgar, visit the Church, get _away_ from it all.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Not without risking revealing Genesis.

Once downstairs, the bar turned out to be curiously empty. Barret had left early in the morning on business, and the kids were at school, but he’d expected Tifa to still be around – or if not her, Nanaki, or even Yuffie. Seventh Heaven was everyone’s unofficial home-away-from-home.

When he thought about it, though, he remembered Tifa saying that Reeve had called up about something and she would be heading over to see him later. Apparently he hadn’t been invited. No big deal, but if the rest of AVALANCHE had gone…

He shook the thought away. He was probably just being paranoid. Unusual though it was, he’d take advantage of the privacy.

Cloud fished around for a clean cup behind the counter, set it on one of the tables, and pulled a Water materia from his pocket. As far as materia went, it was rare, difficult to master, and not very useful in battle – not when you had a mastered Ice materia on hand, or better yet, could summon Leviathan. He’d picked this one up as a curiosity a couple of months after Meteor. Its glow was only about a third as bright as most of the rest of his collection.

For this purpose, though, Water was best. He couldn’t do much damage with it, and if he made a mess it would dry on its own.

Concentrating, he felt for the spells contained within, drawing the very minimum of energy and directing it far more carefully than he usually flung magic about. Keeping a tight focus, with the tiniest nudge, he let a sliver of power loose.

The cup filled with water, splashing over the sides. Hastily, Cloud cut off the spell and dumped the water into the sink. It was an improvement – the cup only overflowed now, instead of shattering. Just two weeks ago he’d been overflowing the bathtub instead.

He set the cup down and started again.

It had become a side project after seeing Genesis’s little display of lighting a candle with a Fire materia. He could do power, could cast with speed, but control wasn’t something he’d refined beyond being able to reliably hit his target. The idea had interested him. He would have liked the chance to discuss it with Genesis.

The spell went completely skew. At the last moment, Cloud wrenched it towards the sink. Water crashed noisily in the metal washing tub, sending a fine spray in all directions. The drain gurgled hungrily, whisking it away.

He’d been trying his best not to think about it. Three weeks had passed since that unresolved night in the theatre. Three weeks since he’d been effectively confined to Edge.

The former SOLDIER was going to be _livid_. Cloud fully expected to be set on fire when they next met.

Grimly, he cast the spell again. Water lapped over the edge of the cup, spreading puddles across the countertop. He reached for a dishrag to mop up the excess.

In light of the situation, there hadn’t been any choice. Even if he ignored the Turks and managed to leave without a confrontation – unlikely, given the way Reno had been acting – he would almost certainly be followed. If he tried to escape his tail, that would only make everyone more suspicious.

AVALANCHE just thought the clone was trailing him – an attack so close to home proved it in their eyes, and it followed the pattern with Kadaj close enough. Most of them weren’t aware of the trouble he’d been having with the local populace. The Turks, on the other hand…

He knew it would come to this eventually. The similarities to Sephiroth, the spectre of what happened with the Black materia… he would never be able to shake it. Outwardly, everyone said they knew he was different and how they trusted him, but they couldn’t hide the doubt and suspicion in their eyes. They tiptoed around him like he was a sleeping dragon.

“Interesting,” a smooth baritone murmured behind him. “I haven’t seen materia used like that before.”

Cursing, Cloud very nearly loosed what would have been a bathtub’s worth of water all over the floor. He reined in the magic at the last minute, took a deep breath, and slid the materia back into his pocket. “Vincent.”

They hadn’t spoken much recently. Cloud was still annoyed at the former Turk going behind his back, even if he understood it. They’d conversed briefly after the discovery of the bodies, and then again after he crashed Fenrir, but that was all. That Vincent approached him now meant there had been new developments.

“I don’t know how much time we have,” Vincent said. “And the phones aren’t likely to be secure. I thought it best to come speak with you directly.”

Definitely not the best opening to a conversation he could have hoped for. “What’s happened?’

It took Vincent a long moment to reply, as though the words pained him. “…They’ve issued a detainment order on all clones and SOLDIERs. Shoot at the first sign of resistance.”

The glass Cloud had been putting back shattered in his hand. He twitched, gingerly pulling the shards of glass free and sweeping them into a pile. “Are you saying ShinRa just issued an order to arrest me?”

“Not ShinRa, specifically. The WRO,” Vincent corrected, voice low and steady as though delivering a report. “And you’re not the only one left. There were a couple of SOLDIERs still living in Junon – former Third Classes. Plus a couple of mako addicts who’d been dishonourably discharged. ShinRa had been keeping them under watch. They moved in on them this morning.”

It was the first Cloud had heard of it – so convinced he’d become that there weren’t any other SOLDIERs left. It stood to reason, though, that at least a couple of the unremarkable ones had managed to fly under the radar in various corners of the Planet. But to arrest them _now_ , when they hadn’t done anything for _years_?

“If they didn’t put up a fight,” Vincent continued, “they’ll have simply gone to a high-security prison.”

So that was how they were playing it.

Cloud took a deep, steadying breath.

Neither he nor Vincent said it out loud, but the dark truth remained unspoken between them. That there were plenty among the WRO’s troops who would use that as an excuse. Who would take the first sign of hesitation, the first confused question, the first complaint, as an open invitation to attack.

“What the hell is Reeve thinking?” Cloud muttered.

"He's being pressured by public sentiment. After Geostigma, and then the DeepGround massacres, the public want reassurance that the threat is gone."

"So what? Are they going to put me down too?" Cloud stared at his hands, watching the cuts heal before his eyes. Condemned, just because he carried S-cells?

They’d become tired of tiptoeing around the sleeping dragon, and had gone straight for the throat.

"It's my understanding that Reeve believes he can talk you into voluntary confinement." His crimson eyes glimmered. "...I don't think he truly comprehends what such an offer means to a former experiment." After a moment, Vincent offered. "Red XIII was furious on your behalf."

Cloud's stomach churned, his anger receding, leaving him tired and hollow. No, Reeve couldn't understand. For all that he had been an ally, the man was, in the end, a ShinRa executive. Though he was aware of the company's casual cruelties, and knew they were wrong, _comprehending_ them was an entirely different matter.

He probably thought the offer humane – a compromise in the face of the risk Cloud presented and a public on knife’s edge. But Reeve didn't understand what it was like, not to have freedom. Didn't understand how precious it was. Zack had _died_ for it, and Cloud had been fighting tooth and nail to keep it ever since.

"The others?" he asked. He started to have sinking suspicions about why the bar was so empty.

It took the former Turk a long moment to answer. "Reeve is... convincing."

“More like _Rufus_ is convincing,” he muttered. This had his fingerprints all over it. Probably some new roundabout scheme to force him to work for Neo-ShinRa.

Vincent inclined his head in acknowledgement, and then added, "...Tifa agreed on the condition she could live with you."

The betrayal lanced through him like a physical blow.

They had it all planned out. A mock little windowless house under tight surveillance and security, no doubt. Visitors to come and go as they pleased. Probably even a workshop to keep him busy. However harsh the WRO's policy, they wouldn't want to risk getting rid of him or upsetting him too much, just in case they missed a piece of Jenova and needed him to fight the fourth coming of Sephiroth. A dangerous weapon, hidden away under lock and key.

And Tifa would quietly endure it with him, sacrificing her freedom for his sake and making them  _both_ miserable in the process.

It was like watching everything he’d fought for – everything _Zack_ had fought for - go up in smoke. _Gaia_ , and _Genesis_ too – he’d hoped that eventually, after the clone situation had been sorted out, he could convince the former Commander to come out of hiding. Now that was impossible. Now simply _coming to town_ would be risking life and freedom.

Vincent seemed to read his line of thought. "...You'd do well to remember, Cloud - however misplaced his targets, the threat Reeve is trying to eradicate is real."

“That doesn’t justify it,” he said roughly.

"Times are changing," Vincent murmured, gazing towards the window. It looked as though he was simply staring into empty space, but Cloud knew it was more likely he was keeping watch. He did the same thing often enough. "People need new enemies. If not Wutai, AVALANCHE. If not AVALANCHE, ShinRa. If not ShinRa..."

He understood it. He did. People were terrified of another incident - Sephiroth, DeepGround, Kadaj's attack... where once SOLDIER was held on a pedestal, they now simply regarded them all as monsters. It didn't matter what they'd done in the past.

After all, Sephiroth had been a hero once upon a time, too.

It was why he'd turned down Tifa's suggestion to get on TV. She didn't get it. He was too much like Sephiroth already. As soon as the public heard about his spliced genes, his fate would have been sealed.

"Shelke?" Cloud asked.

"I’m meeting up with her elsewhere later. Reeve’s planning on offering her a similar deal." There was a long pause, then Vincent said, "...The treatments might be a problem."

They were going to ground, then. Nibelheim wasn't an option - it would be the first place they'd look. That only left... "Gast's laboratory."

"It's one idea," was the non-committal response. "...They will likely let her go. She's not so high-profile."

Not like Cloud.

“What will you do?”  
  
He didn’t answer. He simply made for the stairs.

"If you run, ShinRa will have an excuse to use force." It was stated as simple fact.

Cloud brushed past. "They can try."

 

 


	16. Chapter 15

 

 

Cloud yanked a small black tote out of his cupboard. Clothes went in first, crumpled and thrown – no time for folding. Then his emergency stash of gil in the back of his drawer. His materia next – a half dozen, nothing close to his full collection but the ones he liked best – as well as his supply of potions and ethers. First Tsurugi was swiftly assembled from its rack and slung into its holster. He swept through the bathroom, snatching up toiletries and stuffing a water flask under the tap. He left it filling and dashed into the kitchenette, grabbing anything that didn’t require cooking or refrigeration. Something glass smashed on the floor behind him but he was already rushing back to his room, tossing it all haphazardly into his bag.

His gaze swept the room for anything important he’d missed, and caught the picture frames on his desk. AVALANCHE, as well as another with him, Tifa, and the kids.

_The kids_. His gut tightened at the thought. They’d understand – probably better than anyone else. But Denzel might do something rash.

He scribbled out a quick note – mostly reassurance, some vague explanation, and an imperative to take care of Marlene and Tifa for him. The responsibility ought to be enough to keep Denzel from chasing after him or picking fights on his behalf – though he didn’t hold much hope on the latter. He went to the room the kids shared, and slipped it under Denzel’s pillow.

Back in his office, he zipped up his tote. At the last minute, he grabbed the picture frames and stuffed them in there too.

In their place, he left his phone.

Vincent had already vanished when he headed back downstairs. To go meet up with Shelke, most likely – Cloud could appreciate the former Turk took a risk in even that small delay to inform him of what was going on.

He slipped out the back, quietly closing the door behind him, eyes sweeping the street for familiar faces. Nobody – the backstreet was usually empty, even during the day. It was warm and sunny out, with clear blue skies overhead. The only sound was the distant rumble of traffic the next street over.

It was so painfully normal it left him unsettled. The freedom he’d fought so hard far was under threat, but business in Edge carried on as usual.

He made straight for the garage. Fenrir was in working condition now at least, even if it still needed some bodywork and paint. He would spend a few hours driving circles in the wastes to shake off any potential tails, and then head to the theatre. Warn Genesis. Then find the clone and put a stop to this mess. It would be harder if he had to hide from the WRO and ShinRa at the same time, but then again they’d been doing that already. And if things were this dire, there were riskier methods he could take.

He shoved the thought away. There were more immediate problems to worry about. He could worry about Genesis and the clone _after_ he made it out of Edge.

There was the garage. The door stood open, and he could see his bike inside, scratched black and chrome metal gleaming in the afternoon light. Still battered and scarred from the crash, but the sight of it reassured him. Fenrir was _escape_.

Then he took another step, and noticed the two familiar figures loitering in the shadows of the garage.

Cloud breathed a curse and jolted back out of sight, scanning the area for anything that might give his position away. The mirror on the truck parked further down the alley. The second floor windows of the building next door, staring down at him. The small black circle of a security camera on the street corner, pointed unerringly at the entrance to the rare metals dealer. The lip of the rooftop the next block down, towering over its peers.

All clear. They couldn’t have noticed him yet. More cautiously this time, he peered around the corner again, angling just enough to catch a glimpse of the garage’s interior from the truck’s mirror.

The view was distorted, but the shock of red hair and goggles was unmistakeable.

_Reno_.

And just beyond him, caught in the edge of the reflection, a bald head and pair of shades. _Rude_.

Rude was standing by the bike with his arms crossed, while Reno lounged against the wall, muttering about something while he twirled his electro rod in his fingers. Impossible to guess what he was saying through the distorted reflection. Didn’t matter.

The security forces were already moving.

They were _serious_. _Gaia,_ he didn’t think they’d act that _fast_.

What were his options? It was just Reno and Rude. Even together, he could take them down easily in a fair fight without doing any permanent damage.

Reno and Rude would know that. Which was why they wouldn’t allow a fair fight.

A trap, then – maybe some rigged explosives, or a sniper. A more careful study of the area didn’t reveal anything, but he didn’t expect it would. It wouldn’t work if it were obvious.

Though they didn’t _have_ to a win a fight, if they’d hidden a tracking device in his bike.

Or if they’d sabotaged the bike itself. His arms itched with the memory of burning road rash and sharp gravel. There were many more things to cut than just the brake line.

With a quiet breath, he stepped away, heading back down the alley.

Fenrir was lost to him.

The loss ached, but he put that aside too. This made things more complicated. Without Fenrir, he would have to escape on foot. That made him easier to follow – and easier to catch.

No time to waste. The rooftops, maybe? But it was broad daylight – he’d be a clear target, especially if the WRO or Neo-ShinRa got one of their choppers in the air. This wasn’t a pack of kids looking to pick a fight over his eyes at night.

He hunched his shoulders and walked swiftly through the alley, sticking to the blind spots as much as possible. It took all of his self-control not to run. Running would only draw attention.

The back alleys and service lanes couldn’t carry him more than a couple of blocks though. He slung his tote over his shoulder and shifted First Tsurugi so it wouldn’t be so obvious, and eyed the wide intersection ahead.

It looked more like an endless expanse of desert in the current situation. Bathed yellow in the bright afternoon sun, with no cover to speak of.

He checked his sunglasses again. Casually glanced both ways as he approached.

Then froze.

A line of WRO security forces fanned across the road ahead. Setting up a perimeter. Sweeping the street.

Looking for _him_.

His vision flickered, replaced by a line of silver ShinRa helmets, red-eyed monsters. He shook it away – the WRO weren’t anything like that.

Except they kind of _were_ right now.

He shifted carefully back down the alley, into the safety of the building’s shadows.

He’d go another way – head east towards the Grasslands until he was clear, then loop northwest back towards Midgar. His steps grew light and swift on the road, weaving through the dumpsters and doorways as he turned down the next side street.

Then came to an abrupt stop at the sight of guns and helmets.

The road to the east was being patrolled too.

He turned south. Seventh Heaven was located on the northern side of Edge – if he could get into the city centre, there’d be more streets to patrol. Harder for the WRO to cover everything.

His ears strained for the distant thrum of rotors as he retraced his steps. No helicopters yet. He ducked around the next corner, brushing past a pair of chatting pedestrians utterly unaware of the lockdown in progress. A car rumbled by, and he moved across the street in its wake, slipping into the shadows of another side street, and then another.

As he stepped into a grey service lane lined with rubbish skips, the brief scuff of a leather shoes on concrete reached his ears. He stilled, gaze skating across the narrow alleyway, searching out the source.

One painfully long heartbeat later, Tseng stepped into his path as though born from the shadowed alcove he’d been hiding in. His long, tidy black hair and perfectly pressed suit was incongruous with the dumpsters surrounding them, and his gun hung loosely in his grip – drawn, but not raised.

Not yet.

“Strife-”

“Not interested,” he interrupted.

Tseng paused at that. “You already know, then. Red XIII, I presume. He left in quite the hurry.”

What was Nanaki up to? It was never smart to reveal your hand to a Turk. Cloud simply replied, “You can tell Rufus to forget it.”

“You should reconsider, Strife. It’s for your own protection as much as the public’s. And it won’t be forever – it’s only until the current situation is resolved and things calm down again.”

“That’s a lie.” So this was how Rufus convinced Reeve, and then Reeve, Tifa. Telling them it was to protect him from this clone they couldn’t catch, and from a public ready to form a lynch mob at the slightest provocation. Protect him from himself, if it came to that. And it was only temporary, after all.

It was never temporary.

“We don’t want to be your enemy,” Tseng said.

They were already the enemy.

“Sorry,” Cloud murmured, and struck.

Credit to Tseng’s reflexes – he tried to evade. But for all his skills, even the best of the Turks didn’t have a hope against a SOLDIER moving at full speed. His fist slammed into his stomach before Tseng even managed to raise his gun. Hidden body armour fractured under his knuckles. Tseng folded in half, eyes widening as the breath leapt from his lungs, and then crumpled to the ground. Unconscious.

Cloud snatched up his gun, wrenched out the firing bolt, and tossed it away. It spun across the ground with a metallic scrape and disappeared underneath one of the dumpsters. He moved on, more urgently now. The net was closing in.

He kept to the alleys, careful to cross the streets when no WRO security were in sight – or were, at the very least, not looking in his direction. Slipping between bright warm sunlight and safe, cooling shadow, jostling past pedestrians, gaze constantly tracking every doorway and rooftop for black suits or uniforms.

But the further south he moved, the more WRO agents there seemed to be. He turned left, hoping to follow a narrow road through to the industrial sector, but there was a patrol at the intersection. He backtracked, but only made it two blocks before he found a checkpoint waving pedestrians and motorcars through.

No choice. He retreated north again.

It felt like Odin’s hands themselves were tightening around his throat.

His pace quickened until he was almost moving at a run. He stepped inside a grocer for a moment, pretending to scan the aisles of produce. The minute the cashier looked away to complete a transaction, he was out through the back door, into the next service lane.

He stepped up to the corner, peering around. Another patrol – seven WRO officers. All armed. That confirmed it. Completely surrounded.

His heart thudded in his ears. Should he try and get past? Bust out, before the net could close in? After Tseng woke up, there wouldn’t be a chance. The gloves would come off.

His fingers wrapped around First Tsurugi’s hilt.

There were only seven of them, and only three looking his way. Half had their weapons at the ready – the rest had them slung over their shoulders. Sloppy. Mid-tier recruits, then. Rookies would be nervous and sticking to regulation, and veterans from the DeepGround fighting would know better.

It was doable.

He forced his fingers to uncurl from their death grip on his sword. He was fast enough to draw, if it came to that. No need to invite trouble. He wouldn’t be the one to throw the first punch.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the street.

They didn’t notice him immediately. Cloud kept his pace quick but steady, staying to the side of the street and doing his best to look uninterested in the patrol.

It didn’t work, of course. He was never that lucky.

“It’s him!”

The cry went out half a second before the air cracked with gunfire. A pedestrian screamed, Cloud whipped First Tsurugi forward, and a bullet pinged against the flat of the blade.

‘First sign of resistance’. Right.

In the two seconds it took for the others to turn and raise their weapons, Cloud was upon them.

First Tsurugi sliced through the barrels of the two nearest guns with sharp metallic _shing_. Half a second to kick away a third, then he was barrelling through, his shoulder slamming into the next trooper, knocking him to the ground.

Cloud burst past, running full tilt. Gunfire thudded behind him. There was a slice of air and a flash of pain against his left arm, and then he was ducking into the alleyway beyond, moving with all of his mako-enhanced speed. Footsteps came pounding after him, punctuated with bursts of radio static, but he had already rounded the next two corners, sprinting another three blocks down before they even came close.

_The price of freedom…_

He skidded to a stop just shy of the next corner, and bit down on a Cid-worthy swearing streak. _Another patrol?_   Hadn’t he broken through the line?

How many people had the WRO _put_ on this?

He leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway, taking another long, steadying breath that felt like sandpaper in his throat, trying to work out a plan that _didn’t_ involve cutting down dozens of WRO troops. There wasn’t much time. The patrol he’d busted through wouldn’t be that far behind, and if they radioed back to base the other patrols would be alerted any minute.

His head pounded from adrenaline and his arm stung. Reflexively, he checked it, and found only a bullet graze. Already stopped bleeding, wouldn’t slow him down. Another quick glance around the corner revealed the other patrol wasn’t doing anything yet. Twenty seconds had passed. He probably had about another thirty to come up with a plan, or he’d be busting out the violent way.

That was when he caught sight of an awfully familiar red-haired man casually ambling towards him.

_Genesis_?

 

 


	17. Chapter 16

 

 

Genesis sauntered down the street as though he were merely out for an afternoon stroll – his pace unhurried as he glanced at shop windows, gaze drifting curiously over the WRO officers before turning away with the air of the bored and unbothered.

It was actually kind of amazing. In the face of what should have been horror and stunned disbelief, Cloud could only feel _impressed_ at the former SOLDIER’s reckless confidence - and in his _acting_ abilities, of all things.

He had, at least, gone to some effort to disguise himself. He’d done up his usual red coat to hide the SOLDIER uniform he wore underneath, and if he were carrying his rapier, Cloud couldn’t see it.

He was also wearing Cloud’s sunglasses.

Rather than blending him in by hiding his mako eyes, they made him look like a movie star. Down the road, a trio of women whispered among themselves, sending speculative glances his direction. Even the WRO officers were staring, though none of them made any move to approach – simply elbowed each other and jerked their heads in Genesis’s direction.

The man drawing all the attention, for his part, simply flashed a smile at them and kept walking towards Cloud’s alley.

Cloud had suspected Genesis was insane for a while. This simply proved it.

He stepped back into an alcove, hiding from the eyes following the SOLDIER’s path. A strange sort of apprehension gripped his chest.

Then suddenly Genesis was in front of him, grasping him by the arm and slamming him against the wall with an audible thump, obscuring them both from anyone passing by.

“You’re _late_ , Cloud Strife.”

It would be _really_ bad if Genesis broke out the fire right then. “I _wanted_ to come back,” Cloud muttered, eyes darting over the SOLDIER’s shoulder, checking for WRO officers. “-but I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“You mean to tell me the man who killed _Sephiroth_ was incapable of finding a way?” he hissed, and shoved Cloud against the wall once more. With SOLDIER strength, the wood cracked behind him. “That sounds like an _excuse_.”

“I couldn’t come back without risking _you_ ,” Cloud snapped. This was exactly the worst possible time to be hashing this out. The pursuing patrol could catch up with him any second. “But if you want to go hand yourself in so they can shoot you on sight, be my guest.”

Genesis scowled, though there was an oddly pleased twist to his mouth at those words. “You have a lot of explaining to do. For now, you should simply be grateful that your furry red friend found me in time.”

So _that_ was where Nanaki had gone. He’d wondered when Tseng brought it up. “How did he find you? I never told him about the theatre.” Not even Nanaki’s tracking skills were _that_ good.

Genesis stiffened. “I happened to be at the church. It’s a pleasant place, after all.”

After three weeks?

Oh. _Oh_.

Cloud wasn’t sure what to feel about that. He’d expected Genesis to be irritated with him for not returning, maybe even _angry_ , but something like that… he hadn’t thought Genesis _could_ feel that way.

It made his stomach twist in a way it hadn’t since Aeris.

Hurriedly changing the subject, Cloud gestured at the sunglasses – almost identical to the ones he wore. “You _kept_ them?”

“They turned out to be useful, didn’t they?” Genesis replied airily, and pulled him from the wall, dragging him along by the arm. “More importantly, inform me of the situation.”

“Surrounded. And one patrol on my tail,” Cloud said, stumbling after him. He’d never noticed how much taller Genesis was than him until now. It sucked being short. “When Tseng wakes up they’ll go into complete lockdown.”

“Tseng?”

“I punched him,” he admitted. “…And maybe a few WRO officers as well.”

Genesis let out a huff of a laugh. “I knew I admired you for more than your looks.” He pulled them to a stop, and eyed the surrounding buildings – both three levels high. “Here should do.” His wing burst from his back, scattering black feathers across the alleyway. Cloud blinked, and cautious hope took hold.

Genesiscould _fly._ Could air lift them straight out of Edge, beyond _everyone’s_ reach.

It stole his breath away. For the first time, when he’d seen that single black wing he’d thought  _freedom_ , instead of battling the instinctual tide fear and dread.

“ _Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess  
We seek it thus, and take to the sky,_ ” Genesis announced with a grandiose gesture heavenward.

“ _Loveless_ , First Act,” Cloud murmured in stunned reflex.

Genesis appeared as delighted as he did surprised. “You recognise it.”

“How can I forget, after you’ve drummed it into my head,” he retorted.

The former Commander stilled at that, giving him a queer look Cloud couldn’t quite read behind the sunglasses. “…Indeed.” He wrapped his arms around him, holding him far too close. Cloud couldn’t bring himself to protest – not right then. “Time to fly, Cloud Strife.”

And then they were in the air, wind against their faces. Leaving Edge behind.

Leaving _everything_ behind.

……………………

Tifa clutched the phone in the palm of her hands, staring it with such intensity that the rest of the bar faded out for a moment. As though it were a materia capable of summoning Cloud back to them, if she just willed it hard enough.

A Cloud Lure. She let out a half-strangled laugh at the thought. Gaia knew how often she’d wished for such a thing.

“Tifa?” Marlene’s voice reached for her, small and tremulous. “Does this mean Cloud’s leaving us again?”

She pulled a smile from the deepest, darkest depths of her reserves, and crouched down. “It’s just a little misunderstanding. You know how he is.”

“But he left his phone.” Denzel’s voice was thin and dry. In shock, maybe. They all were, when they came back home and Cloud’s room had been ransacked and his phone left behind.

A message, loud and clear. _Don’t look for me_.

She closed her eyes briefly, and then forced another smile. With a pat on each of their shoulders, she stood and steered them towards the stairs. “He probably just forgot it.” The dubious expressions both Marlene and Denzel sent her said they weren’t falling for such a thin lie.

“Is he doing something dangerous again?” Denzel asked. “Are we going to be taken away somewhere ‘safe’?”

“That won’t be necessary,” a new voice interrupted, backed by the jingle of the front door bell.

Tifa glanced over. “Reeve!” He stood awkwardly in the doorway, brushing dust from his sleeves and belatedly managing a friendly smile at Denzel. Her mouth hardened to a thin line. With a gesture, she shooed the kids to their room – they both sent her plaintive looks, but headed upstairs wearing matching frowns.

She stalked over, fists clenching from habit, knuckles practically itching for a thrashing. “ _What went wrong_? You promised me we were all going to go discuss it with Cloud together! Why would he _run away_ before we even made it home?”

Reeve held up his hands disarmingly – and not just a little nervously. “The Turks said Red XIII must have come and told him, and if he didn’t hear the whole story, well, he might have been spooked…”

As frustrated as it made her, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at Nanaki. Like all of them, he had Cloud’s best interests at heart. And she couldn’t deny that the idea had been abhorrent to her at first too, but when Reeve started laying out the worst case scenarios, and reassuring them that it wasn’t as bad as it first sounded… And she’d been prepared to go with him, even. To make sure he wasn’t alone, to _help_ him if necessary.

If only she’d had a chance to talk to him herself. She _knew_ Cloud – he didn’t want to put anyone at risk. He would sooner cut off his own hands than hurt someone innocent. So why?

She turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. “Does he hate me now? For going along with this?” To _leave_ , without even _discussing_ it…

“Cloud could never hate you,” Reeve said softly.

She clenched her jaw, and willed herself not to cry.

Reeve didn’t get it. Didn’t get what this meant.

This wasn’t Cloud leaving to protect _them_.

He was leaving to protect _himself_.

From what? From _her_? From the WRO? She didn’t understand.

Lately, she hadn’t understood her childhood friend at all.

“I’ve let him down,” she murmured, and sat down at the nearest table. Where had she stepped wrong? They’d all been doing so much better, after the Geostigma cure, and then after they repelled Deep Ground… There had been terrible losses, but _things were getting better_.

Right?

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Reeve assured her. “Don’t worry. I’ve got people out looking for him. And even the Turks…” He trailed off there, a worried crease forming between his brows.

She stared down at her hands. She’d thought herself strong. How often she’d told Cloud to stop running, to talk to her, to stop _hiding_ … but now, a sick sensation began to curl in her chest.

Maybe Cloud wasn’t the only one who’d been sticking his head in the sand, wishing for things that couldn’t happen.

……………………..

Cloud wobbled on his feet, nausea from their flight leaving him feeling blurry. He could fight on slabs of shattered concrete falling through the air, take the twists and turns and bumps of cross-country driving at full speed, but _this_ still somehow managed to make him feel like some sickly runt on the ferry from Nibelheim all over again.

Maybe he should have just busted out on foot, consequences be _damned_ …

Genesis didn’t give him any time to regain his equilibrium. The moment they landed, he all but  _dragged_ him into the theatre, taking his tote from his shoulders and dropping it by the door. Cloud stumbled after him, head still spinning. Genesis tossed his sunglasses aside, then snatched Cloud’s from his face too. The theatre caught their echoes as they clattered to the floor.

They made it as far as the stage, when Genesis pulled him around and pressed their mouths together ferociously. For one long minute, there was nothing but the sensation of closeness, the preoccupation with lips and tongue and hot breath.

Genesis eventually broke from the kiss, and eyed him speculatively. “You’re not complaining.”

Guilt spiked in him briefly at the reminder, all the doubts and self-recriminations he’d harboured rushing back in one single thought of _Tifa_ , but it was swept aside just as quickly by the sting of betrayal and loss. It had _hurt_ , that his childhood friend could bargain away his freedom like that, could make such a decision knowing his past. It was the crown on a throne of a hundred tiny resentments that had collected over the past few months, the subtle pressure into a relationship he didn’t want, the expectations he could never meet, the endless ambiguity hanging in the air between them.

It was unfair of him, maybe. To resent Tifa for something she didn’t – _couldn’t_ – ever fully understand. He knew she only wanted the best, thought she was making the right decision. It wasn’t all her fault. He hadn’t been completely honest with her either.

But he couldn’t make the feeling go away.

And some part of him admired Genesis, some deep unfulfilled corner of himself had craved this in a carnal way ever since the notion had first presented itself. Hungered for the confidence and camaraderie and understanding that Tifa could no longer provide.

He couldn’t make _that_ feeling go away, either.

So all he did was reach up, slide his fingers through smooth auburn hair, and pull Genesis towards him again.

Cloud had decided. Maybe as many as three weeks ago. Maybe when Vincent had told him what Tifa had agreed to. Maybe not until he saw Genesis brazenly sauntering towards him on the street and it felt like burning sunlight on his skin after weeks underwater.

The black wing curled around him in a feathery embrace – the SOLDIER had not yet folded it away, and the soft down tickled his arms. It fluttered briefly as Genesis deepened the kiss, and then stretched out as Cloud found himself being slowly pushed to the floor.

“Magnificent,” Genesis murmured, nimble fingers already working at the clasps for his shoulder guard and sword harness. They fell away, discarded into the orchestra pit, Genesis turning his attention to Cloud’s belts next.

“Wait,” he said. “Here?” The stage, already large, seemed suddenly cavernous, and every sound amplified.

“Worried a monster will come in and come watch?” The retort was full of wry amusement, and Cloud’s breath hitched as cool fingers slid under his shirt.

It was a good point. You couldn’t get much more alone than the middle of an abandoned metropolis. Still… “ _Now_?”

“ShinRa have not found me here yet. They will not find you here now.” Genesis leaned in close, lips tracing the edge of his jaw. “Your explanations for your inexcusable tardiness can come later.”

Any further protests he might have had dissolved under teasing, exploring touches and feather-light kisses. It was so different to being with Tifa, where it only felt awkward and his mind wouldn’t stop turning things over, convincing himself it was a bad idea. Now, he struggled to do anything more than focus on the feeling of skin, and warmth, and the whisper of black feathers and leather dragging against the wooden stage.

It was also frustratingly slow. Apparently now that Genesis had him on his back and willing, all his impatience had vanished.

“Cut it out with all the foreplay,” Cloud growled.

“No appreciation for romance,” Genesis mocked, fingers trailing delicately along the curve of his hips. “It’s been a long time for me, Cloud Strife, and I intend to savour it.”

Genesis acted as though he’d been courting him for _years_ instead of deciding a matter of _weeks_ ago that he wanted to have sex.

It did, however, get things moving, and their boots and pants soon joined his sword and shoulder guard in the orchestra pit. Their bodies rocked together, shallow gasps echoing through the empty auditorium. Cloud clutched at Genesis’s leather coat – Genesis in turn dug his fingers into his shoulders – and he didn’t know why he’d even hesitated before.

It was like falling into a dream, leaving reality behind. All that mattered was Genesis. The rest of the world might as well have disappeared.

 

 


	18. Chapter 17

 

 

The fingers of sunshine poking through the theatre’s damaged roof had begun to fade, though there was still plenty of light to see by. Midgar beyond was silent, the vermin and monsters that regularly prowled the ruins obviously having found somewhere else to scrap and scavenge. Their only company as they talked was the faint whistle of breeze breathing underneath the theatre doors.

Cloud hooked his legs over the armrest of the musty red seat next to him, which wasn’t an improvement in terms of comfort but made it easier to swipe the last of his scattered belts from the floor without getting up. Genesis similarly lounged within arm’s reach, somehow managing to sprawl across five seats and two rows at once.

His muscles were all but liquid, the loosest they’d been for what felt like years. _Odin_ , he’d forgotten how good it was to get laid. When had the last time been? With Aeris? Maybe the only time – he couldn’t sort out his memories any further back than that, and even that recollection had been soured by her death and his identity crisis.

It was just as well, though. It let him relax enough to take stock of the situation, and discuss the past few weeks without so much emotion choking his words.

“And…?” Genesis prodded. Cloud blinked, and realised he’d trailed off from his recount.

“…And that’s it. I ran for it, you showed up, and here we are.” His thoughts turned dark. “The WRO I almost expected, but I never thought Tifa would…”

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished. Genesis waved it away with a lazy hand.

"That's how it starts. 'For the good of the whole'. Small acts of cruelty with the very best of intentions. The seeds of mistrust, a disgruntled population, a nameless threat. It reaches a boil slowly enough that nobody notices until too late. History repeats."

“Sorry for not being as cynical as you,” Cloud replied, without any real heat behind the words.

“ _In mistrust, joy  
_ _In faith, despair  
_ _Cruel are the trials of the Goddess_.” His lips curled into a satisfied smile – it turned out Cloud wasn’t the only one feeling particularly relaxed. “ _Beloved,_ Fourth Act.”

Cloud rolled his eyes, and regarded the SOLDIER lazing next to him at length. Genesis really  _was_ good looking, enough to make him feel self-conscious and remember teenage inadequacies long forgotten. Not the tower of masculinity Sephiroth had been, but he possessed the same sort of air.

It made him wonder if what really attracted him was confidence - he was so lacking in it, and Genesis had it in spades.

The train of thought didn’t get the chance to linger long. “We made a mess,” Genesis observed with a suffering air, looking at where they’d been lying on the stage.

Cloud dug through the pockets of his rumpled pants, fishing out his Water materia. With a flick of his wrist, he dropped half a bucket’s worth of water over the stage, washing away the evidence. It was much easier than his more recent attempts at filling a glass.

Interest lit up the SOLDIER’s eyes, and he raised himself to his elbows. “Water materia? I didn’t think any actually existed outside of theory.”

Cloud tossed it over. Genesis caught it one-handed and rolled it in his palm, expression thoughtful. “And not even mastered yet… I wasn’t aware you were any good with it.”

“I’m not, really. Not like you are.” _That_ comment all but made the former Commander _preen_. He’d probably regret it later. “I’ve mastered a lot of materia, but the kind of control you have…” Raw power was fine – he could pull down a hail of comets that could crater an entire village – but subtlety remained a weakness. There had never been a need. “I’ve only made it this far with Water at this stage.”

“Such finesse does not come easily, and it’s different with every materia. Not many SOLDIERs ever bothered,” Genesis remarked, then handed the materia back to him. “Go on then. Show me.”

Uncertainly, Cloud raised the orb, and concentrated. A small orb of water, about twice the size of his fist, formed above the stage. Genesis made a small sound of approval in the back of his throat. “Can you manipulate it?”

At his blank look, the former SOLDIER explained, “If you continue feeding energy into the spell, you can maintain more control over it. It requires balance, however – too much, you’ll lose control, too little, and you’ll have no control at all.” He huffed. “Really. What by the Goddess were they _teaching_ in Materia Theory?”

Cloud nodded his understanding – it sounded a bit like some of the Lures, or Underwater materia. He fed the slightest bit of energy into the materia, and concentrated.

The sphere slowly flattened out, until it was a slightly fat sheet. A little bit more effort, and he could animate it, forming simple shapes, making the water dance. It was surprisingly… fun.

“You have some talent,” Genesis remarked critically. “Though…” With a flick of his wrist, he shot a fireball. It struck the water like a bullet, turning it to steam.

Not a single drop hit the ground.

Cloud glared at him, and earned a smug grin back. Admittedly, that _was_ impressive – sending the exact right amount of fire, and fast enough to evaporate all the water without leaving flames to spare – but he hadn’t been ready to finish. He cast again, a larger sphere of water this time, giving him more to play with.

After half a minute, Genesis fried that one too.

Cloud materialised the next one directly over their heads, and let it burst.

The SOLDIER sputtered, thoroughly drenched. It was _his_ turn to glare now. “Why by the Goddess would you do _that_? _You’re_ soaked too.”

“But I don’t care about a little water,” Cloud replied nonchalantly.

Predictably, that sparked a fight. Genesis leapt at him, forgoing the sword for once to grapple with his arms. Cloud dropped in under his guard, barrelling him down with his shoulder. They hit the ground in a tangle of wet limbs and leather. An arm twisted its way around his neck, but Cloud rolled with it, hooking his legs behind Genesis’s knees as they rolled across the carpet, hands snatching and blocking.

Genesis was taller, but he was also rubbish at hand-to-hand combat. Cloud broke his sloppy arm hold and twisted, kicked out, and used his momentum to flip them over. In one smooth move, he straddled the former SOLDIER, pushed his left arm away, pinned his right, and pressed his elbow into the hollow of his throat.

“Yield?” Cloud asked, leaning in close enough to whisper, but not close enough to head-butt.

Genesis smirked and snatched at his hair with his free hand, but Cloud caught it by the wrist, his elbow still firmly pressed against his opponent’s throat.

Genesis scowled. “Where did you learn _that_?”

“There were all kinds of fighting styles in AVALANCHE. I picked up a bit along the way.”

It made him think of Tifa, though, and he didn’t want to think about Tifa. Then the dark and gloomy thoughts would _never_ stop.

Genesis nodded his surrender in begrudging acknowledgement, and Cloud extracted himself, rolling over to sprawl on the carpet next to the now-sodden chairs in the front row. The SOLDIER remained as he was, only turning his head to regard his companion through half-lidded eyes.

“Wet hair is a good look for you,” Genesis remarked idly.

Cloud patted the top of his head warily – his spikes were flat, drooping with water to frame his face and hang in front of his eyes. Comments about his appearance still left him feeling uncomfortable. All he could ever remember was being self-conscious – over his weird hair and light colouring and small stature, and more recently, his ‘freaky’ glowing eyes. Not like Genesis, who even with water dripping from his hair looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of a magazine.

He didn’t wind up saying anything in response, and they lay there for several long minutes, only the sound of their breathing filling the space between them.

He stared up at the damaged ceiling. The theatre was beginning to get dark. Normally this would be the point he’d start heading back to Edge from Midgar.

Not anymore, though. He couldn’t go back. That avenue was closed to him now. There was only this, here, with Genesis.

“You know,” Genesis remarked thoughtfully, “That Water materia would certainly make bathing a great deal easier.”

Cloud blinked at the unexpected angle of conversation. Then again, for someone living in ruins without any electricity or running water, Genesis _was_ surprisingly clean and well-groomed. Cloud was certainly never so fresh after a few days on the road. “How have you been doing it?”

“A combination of Fire and Ice materia.”

Cloud mentally reviewed Genesis’s materia skills up another notch. Dual-casting was no easy feat – that Genesis did it for something as pedestrian as _personal hygiene_ said a lot _._ “You’re right, Water materia _would_ be easier.”

Genesis rolled over and regarded him with an indolent gaze and coquettish smirk. “Care to test it out?”

………………………

Tseng was giving him a measured, analysing look. Nanaki flicked his tail and ignored it.

They were gathered in the dining area of Seventh Heaven – the bar closed to patrons as it played host to Turk investigation and internal AVALANCHE quarrels both. Tseng and Cait Sith had cornered him near the door, while Tifa and the others had gathered around one of the big wooden tables in the centre of the room.

“Cloud didn’t say anything to you?” Cait asked. Although technically it wasn’t Cait – Reeve was borrowing the microphone, so the voice coming through the speaker was his baritone instead of the chirpy accent of the robot cat.

“No,” Nanaki replied honestly. For some reason, they seemed to believe _he’d_ stopped by to tell Cloud about what had happened. But in his mad dash towards Seventh Heaven, he’d seen a few too many WRO officers in the streets to bother, so he’d abandoned that plan and took off to Midgar instead.

By the time he’d arrived, his flanks had been covered in sweat and he’d struggled for breath, but he’d made it in time. Cloud got away.

“Nothing at all?” Reeve pressed through Cait.

Nanaki’s good eye lazily trailed the path of a fly buzzing through the air. “Nothing.”

“What about Vincent?” Tseng slid in and out of the interrogation like a poisonous snake. Hunting, though currently more threat than bite. “We haven’t been able to contact him either.”

“If you can’t, I can’t,” Nanaki said, entirely truthfully, though perhaps a trifle smugly. Vincent had obviously found a way to inform Cloud in his absence, but he was happy enough to take the credit.

The three of them, of everyone in AVALANCHE, shared a unique understanding, a special camaraderie the others could never share – nor would they want them to.

They’d all been Hojo’s, once upon a time. That left an indelible mark on an individual. And they all knew that confinement, no matter how comfortable, was not an option for any of them.

Nearby, Yuffie threw her phone down onto the table in disgust. “He’s still not answering! The big jerk!”

“Do you think, maybe, Cloud’s with Vincent?” Tifa suggested hesitantly.

“Unlikely,” Tseng remarked. “We have also lost contact with Shelke Rui.”

Barrett scowled. “So what are you Turks gonna do about that then, huh? Gonna lock up a little girl, too?!”

“We were going to offer her the same deal we were going to offer Cloud,” Tseng replied, utterly unruffled by Barrett’s anger. “You understand, don’t you, that by being so unreasonable about it, they’re only jeopardising their own safety?”

Nanaki growled low in his throat. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable at all. It’s Neo-ShinRa who are overreacting.”

“Are we?” The coldness of his tone left Nanaki suddenly nervous. Tseng reached into his jacket, and withdrew a single black feather.

The room fell silent as it he placed it on the table. Tifa’s face went chalk-white at the sight of it. “This was found near the location where we lost track of Strife.” Tseng paused to let that sink in, and then added, “There were no signs of a struggle.”

The feather carried the faintest of odours beneath the scent of Tseng – mako and fire and leather. _Genesis_.

Not that Nanaki could say anything about that. For the first time, though, he found it difficult to hold his tongue.

“What the hell are you implying with that?” Cid grunted.

Yuffie pointed accusingly at the Turk. “Are you trying to say that he’s _working_ with the clone?”

“That is one possibility,” Tseng said, and very conspicuously didn’t say anything more.

“Tseng.” Tifa voice was impossibly small, but the rest of the room stayed quiet in deference to it. “…Are you trying to suggest that this might be from…” The sentence hung in the air, unfinished.

“We cannot rule out any possibility.”

The silence this time was a great deal more ominous. Nobody wanted to say it aloud, as though the words might make it real.

Tseng turned back to him. “You see now, we’re not acting lightly. If you know anything, you should share it now, before this can escalate any further.”

Nanaki snuffed, and looked away.

“There’s nothing more to be done here, Tseng,” Reeve said through Cait. “I’m needed elsewhere. I’ll be signing off.” There was a pause, and then Cait perked up, movements immediately more fluid and voice pitched higher with a completely different accent. “Ach, what’s with all the sorry faces? Cheer up, lass, I’m sure Cloud’ll be back with us in no time.”

Tseng moved his attention to Tifa, having apparently decided – quite rightly – that he’d be getting no cooperation from Nanaki. “Ruling out Vincent, or the Church in Sector Five, can you think of anywhere else he might have gone?”

She hesitated. “I… no, I can’t think of anywhere particularly. I mean, with AVALANCHE, we travelled all over the Planet…”

“What about contacts?” Tseng pressed. “Friends you made along the road who’d house him?”

She shook her head. “Cloud’s not… We’re all he has.”

“That’s kinda lame,” Yuffie said. “I mean, I’ve got people in Wutai, and Cid’s got that engineer lady, and Reeve’s got a whole posse of stinking sycophants…”

It was a sobering thought. Once upon a time it might have made Nanaki’s head droop in sympathy. If AVALANCHE had been all _he_ had, if it weren’t for Grandfather Bugenhagen and the people in Cosmo Canyon…

But Cloud _wasn’t_ alone. Cloud had Genesis now. And after the way Genesis had torn out of the church before Nanaki had even finished talking, he was sure his friend was in good hands. After all, Genesis was like _them_. And even better, he didn’t have any loyalties to anyone else to worry about.

So Nanaki merely licked his paw and made himself comfortable. As long as Cloud had Genesis, he’d be fine.

………………………

The bathtub Genesis had appropriated was another item salvaged from the prop storage. It was a terribly old-fashioned porcelain affair with clawed feet, but considering Midgar no longer had any functional plumbing, suited his needs perfectly. It was sturdy enough to withstand any stray chunks of ice, and the porcelain tolerated the heat from his Fire materia acceptably, with only a faint carbon scoring to show after months of use.

And once Genesis lit the candles scattered around the room, it carried a romance worthy of writing sonnets about.

Cloud hovered in the doorway uncertainly. Genesis shed his coat and tossed it aside, beckoning the other SOLDIER inside. His guest shuffled a few feet in, and then didn’t move any further.

Genesis huffed to himself and stepped up, pulling off the shoulder guard and belts and – “Honestly, why did you put all of this back on?”

“Shouldn’t we fill the bath first?” Cloud didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Genesis saved him from indecision by stripping the gloves from them.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he purred. He turned his attention to removing their boots as Cloud raised his Water materia. The air thrummed with magic for a moment, there was a splash, and then the bathtub filled near to the brim.

The sight of such precision casting – nowhere near _his_ expertise, of course, but the closest anyone had come yet – sent a wave of warmth through Genesis, an odd sort of giddiness that reminded him of childhood. The pure and simple joy of recognising someone else who appreciated materia almost as much as he did.

Not that he would settle for being outdone, however. With a flourish he produced his Fire materia and spared a bit of concentration to create a shallow bed of flame beneath the bathtub, even as his other hand tugged on the black fabric of Cloud’s pants.

Cloud batted his fingers away. “You don’t need to be so impatient. Take care of yourself first.” There was a huskiness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, and Genesis preened under it. He hadn’t lost his touch at _all_.

“If you _insist_.” He slipped out of his pants gracefully. At least _he_ hadn’t been foolish enough to bother redoing all of his belts. Warm air breathed against his legs, contrasting with the pleasantly sharp cold of the bathroom tiles. Some distant part of him managed to notice steam beginning to rise from the bath and cut the running spell. It truly _was_ much easier when he didn’t have to _melt_ the water first.

Cloud’s pants joined his on the floor, but his companion seemed to lose momentum after that, fingers hovering nervously over the zip of his shirt – the last article of clothing protecting his modesty.

That suited Genesis just fine. “Allow me.” He stepped up closer, admiring the faint rose blooming on blond’s cheeks at the close proximity. It seemed remarkable to him that one could possess such strength and appearance and still be so shy. It was adorable, really.

The zipper parted the black fabric, exposing a widening river of pale, perfect flesh. Genesis let his gaze linger appreciatively. Despite their earlier activities, neither of them had been properly naked – far more concerned with _feeling_ than _seeing_.

And Cloud Strife was a fine specimen indeed. The build of a gymnast more than a swordsman, with skin as flawless as Minerva’s.

That was, until the zipper reached his stomach.

His fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. Then slowly, they completed their journey and pushed the shirt from Cloud’s shoulders.

Something in his expression must have shifted, as Cloud tensed and asked, “What-” And then a second later, “Oh.”

He didn’t move to cover it, though shifted his weight awkwardly.

“The first time I fought Sephiroth,” Cloud mumbled, “…it was really more of a draw.”

It was an ugly scar, thin but jagged around the edges. It told a gruesome story - the sword had been moved within the body, and pulled free clumsily. Genesis reached around to trace Cloud's back, finding its twin just to the left of the spine. Perilously close to the aorta.

This was the mark Sephiroth had left.

Genesis couldn’t decide whether it left him furious or _terrified_.

"I'd have more," Cloud muttered, "but after the mako tanks..."

“Both Hojo and Sephiroth should be grateful for the sanctuary of the Lifestream,” Genesis growled. Cloud Strife was _his_ now – in every sense the word mattered.

“Forget about it. It’s in the past.” In an apparent effort to change the subject, Cloud started to return the favour by helping Genesis take off _his_ shirt.

Then, in an awkward parody of the scene just passed, paused when the shirt cleared Genesis’s shoulder.

Revealing that disgusting mass of scarred, miscoloured flesh. His souvenir from degradation.

Genesis found his hand reaching up to clutch it, to cover it, but Cloud caught his arm halfway. "Don't," he said. "It's fine.” He dragged the fabric the rest of the way over his head, not bothering with tenderness.

Genesis appreciated it. Still… “You’re not going to ask?”

“Do you want me to?” He turned to the bath, stepping in and sinking down until the water reached his shoulders. His eyes slid shut. “The water’s good.”

It _looked_ good. “ _The wind sails over the water's surface  
Quietly, but surely..._ ” Genesis murmured, reached down to trail a hand in the water. Hot, but not scalding. He’d gauged it well.

“Quit quoting _Loveless_ and get in,” Cloud ordered, eyes still closed.

“Then move forward,” Genesis retorted. Confused, Cloud slid forward to the centre of the bath, sending a small wave of water spilling over the sides. Genesis stepped into the space and settled down behind him, stretching his legs out and pulling the blond onto his lap.

He’d expected a reaction, but Cloud settled against his chest without much fuss beyond a grumbled, “Why do _I_ have to sit in front?”

“I’m taller, Cloud Strife. It’s a matter of simple logistics,” Genesis remarked, perhaps a tad too gleefully. He ran a hand down the blond’s thigh. The skin felt like silk underwater.

Then, because it was killing him that Cloud truly _was_ going to mind his own business, Genesis blurted, “It was degradation.”

Cloud didn’t move and didn’t say anything, so Genesis continued, “There was a training accident. It was just a scratch. But it never healed.” He reached up to trace the edge of the scarring. “ _My Soul broken and shattered  
_ _Wallows in agony  
_ _To defy shadows and return to glory  
_ _To seek eternal rest._ ”

The skin felt bumpy under his touch, even after so many years. He closed his eyes, banishing the sight of miscoloured flesh, though it still burned far too bright in his memory. The words stuck in his throat as though covered in barbs, but he swallowed, and forced himself to continue. He was not so weak as to be defeated by _memories_.

“I was dying. Wasting away. I tried everything, but nothing would work. I was trapped in a slow march towards death.” His voice sounded too loud, echoing harshly against the bathroom tiles.

“…Until the Goddess gave me a second chance.”

The words rested heavily between them. Genesis had never spoken them aloud before, never described degradation so plainly. It made him feel far more exposed than a lack of clothing ever could.

For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke. Just sat there in the steaming bath, the only sound being the gentle movement of water and soft draw of breath.

Cloud was the one to finally break the silence. "...Did you ever hear about Geostigma?"

"You mentioned it, in passing," Genesis replied, leaning forward until his chin nearly rested on the other’s shoulder. His fingers trailed across his companion’s stomach, eliciting a delightful shudder. "A terminal disease that spread through the population two years ago. An auto-immune response to Jenova's taint. Though a cure was eventually found."

"A lot of people died first." By contrast, Cloud’s voice barely stirred the air, the words were so soft. "It was... it was an ugly way to go. Painful. Messy. No one was sure if it was contagious, and people were scared of it. They wouldn’t… they wouldn’t even touch someone with it." His tone turned dark. “Kids would collapse in the street, and no one would help them.”

“It sounds similar to degradation,” Genesis commented. “Were they related?”

“The symptoms were different, but the root cause was the same. Things in the body that didn’t belong there.”

Genesis’s breath hitched, and he suddenly understood where this story was going. “You-”

Cloud settled his weight back against Genesis’s chest. “Yeah.”

His arm, Genesis recalled. Cloud had a habit of occasionally clutching his arm, as though expecting it to hurt.

The gesture had seemed oddly familiar to him when he saw it. Now he knew why.

Genesis reached up, almost reverently, and ran his fingers across the bicep, where he’d seen Cloud grab it in the past. The blond went perfectly still under his touch, like a nervous chocobo unused to having its feathers brushed.

The skin was smooth, almost unnaturally so. Nothing like the tangled mess of scarring left by degradation.

So they sat there in the steaming bath, skin against skin, baring their scars, physical and metaphorical, to each other.

It was oddly intimate, in many ways far more so than their earlier coupling. It seemed amazing that someone else could understand that slow, poisonous march towards death. That someone else knew the pain of being used and thrown away and thoroughly _betrayed_ by ShinRa, that someone else had lost _years_ of their life to it.

That his pain was not so unique soothed his temper.

For several minutes, they lounged in the bath quietly, content to simply sit and be close. The water _was_ lovely, and there was no particular rush to indulge in _other_ activities just yet.

Genesis hummed low in his throat, and began to murmur,

“ _As the beast awakens, the Hero sets out  
_ _Chosen by the Goddess, loved and forsaken  
_ _An oath unfulfilled  
_ _He trusts in the Shadow  
_ _And finds light in the abyss  
_ _The lovers share an oath  
_ _Though their hearts are filled with doubt._ ”

Cloud shifted against him. “Is that your way of trying to get some sort of sappy confession out of me?”

Genesis scoffed. “Please. I am already well aware that you have all the romance of a tonberry.”

“Not a good analogy,” Cloud muttered. “You’ve obviously never killed a tonberry’s mate.”

Genesis paused. That _was_ a somewhat terrifying prospect. “Why by the Goddess would you _do_ that?” And for that matter, he’d never actually considered how tonberries reproduced. It was a mental image he could have lived without.

“I didn’t have a choice at the time!” Cloud defended.

Huffing with laughter, Genesis slid deeper into the water, bringing his companion down with him. He trailed a hand over the edge of the tub, lazily observing the way the water dripped from his fingertips. “So, Cloud Strife, while I may be enjoying this, it seems pertinent to ask - what are you going to do now?”

There was a long silence as his companion carefully considered his answer, but Genesis was used to that by now.

“Lay low for a couple of days,” Cloud eventually decided. “Until the heat dies down.”

A wise approach. After a few days, ShinRa would be forced to scale back the resources dedicated to hunting him. They couldn’t spare the manpower indefinitely, and once a trail grew cold the expenditure became wasteful. Genesis had utilised that pattern to great effect in the past.

That he would undoubtedly benefit from such downtime was merely a bonus.

“And then?” Genesis prompted.

“…I’m going to find the clone,” Cloud replied. “After that… we’ll see.”

 

 


	19. Chapter 18

 

 

For three days, they stayed inside and kept their heads down. The drone of a helicopter rose in the distance several times, and once passed worryingly near the theatre, but nobody intruded in their world. It appeared the inner districts remained as difficult for the WRO to access as before.

Genesis, for his part, seemed to revel in having Cloud there, and was apparently doing his utmost best to make up for the three weeks he’d been forced to wait after that first kiss.

Possibly he was trying to make up for the previous four years of inactivity, too.

It was dizzying how quickly Cloud had fallen into this relationship with Genesis, and absurd that he could feel so comfortable with a man he’d known for less than three months. But it felt _right_. The stress and tension he’d come to take for granted in his interactions with his comrades just didn’t exist with Genesis.

They _should_ have been a bad match, personality-wise. But it didn't seem to matter. Unlike all the ambiguity with Tifa, Genesis made sure he always knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted sex. He wanted a spar. He wanted someone to sit quietly and listen while he waxed poetic. It was _easy_.

More importantly, he never said a word when Cloud woke up from nightmares, or when he failed to contribute to the one-sided conversation, or when he propped his sword in reach next to the table or bed, or when he didn't bother with the candles because he could see just fine. Because for all the ways they differed, there were just as many where they were the same.

As tempting as it was to disappear into the bowels of the theatre and forget the rest of the world existed, however, Cloud knew he couldn’t hide forever. So when the morning sun broke over Midgar’s ruins on the fourth day, they ventured outside.

“So,” Genesis drawled from his perch on one of the many bits of rubble surrounding the theatre entrance. “How is today going to differ from any _other_ day we’ve gone clone hunting?”

Cloud took a deep breath. The musty smell of dew-damp carpet mixed with the faintest whiff of mako in the air made him want to sneeze. Even four years on, pollution lingered around Midgar. “Today I’m going to use a different method.”

Genesis raised an eyebrow at that, but seemed to sense to gravitas of the moment and remained quiet.

Cloud should have done this a long time ago, instead of letting sleeping dragons lie. Had been selfishly avoiding it, determined to make do with other means, because reaching for this feeling, for this sense, meant acknowledging a connection he desperately wanted to pretend didn’t exist.

And there was always a degree of risk, too. The bond wasn’t one way.

But the risk had become worth it now. The clone was the only way left to fix things. If they sorted out the clone problem, things would be sure to settle down eventually. Neo-ShinRa and the WRO would sooner or later have to rescind their orders, the Turks would have their vengeance for Elena, and the public would have time to forget and focus on some new demon to vilify.

Moving back to Edge, or seeing Tifa again… neither of those things were very high on his priorities list currently. But Cloud didn’t want to spend the rest of his life running and hiding. And he didn’t want Genesis to have to, either.

That meant he needed to step up, before things could get any worse.

Cloud closed his eyes and stretched out his senses.

It wasn’t a sensation he could easily explain to anyone else. He might never have become aware of it if Sephiroth hadn’t tried so often to use it against him in the past. After a while, he’d learned how to recognise the uncomfortable prickle of static against his thoughts, the scratchiness as his eyeballs tried to shift, the way it felt like his body was trying to forcibly tune into a radio station just out of range.

He’d learned the signs so he could recognise and fight the pull of Reunion. But with that, he’d also learned how to _use_ them. He’d figured out how to consciously tap into the Call, to discover where exactly it was calling him _to_.

The thread of thought snaked through the back of his mind like a slither of lightning, the ghostly afterimage burning behind his eyelids. It took a moment to parse the information, to make sense of the snatched jumble of data, of knowledge he’d acquired without being conscious of learning it. And when he did, he almost didn’t believe it.

Cloud blinked, and looked back at the theatre.

It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake.

He turned on his heel, and stalked back the way he came.

“You have something?” Genesis trailed his steps impatiently.

Cloud didn’t respond, too focused on following what amounted to instinct. He paused outside the theatre doors, staring into the dim interior. The presence flickered strangely, and for a moment, he was left only with the impression of shadows. There was an echo nearby that briefly confused him. A glance out the corner of his eye showed only Genesis. Not a clone then, just the presence of inert Jenova cells distracting him.

“Does this work like a compass?” Genesis asked with humour. “Perhaps I should fly us, and you merely point the direction?”

Cloud shook his head. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “No. I think…” He swallowed, stretching for that sense, even as it flitted just barely out of reach, like a butterfly of static noise. “I think he’s in here.”

Genesis suddenly straightened, tension rippling through his body in a wave. “Impossible.” He stalked past him into the theatre, coat flaring. “ _Impossible!_ ”

Cloud followed on automatic, one hand moving to rest on First Tsurugi, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Paranoia clung to his skin like a cloak. This felt wrong. This had to be a trap.

“How could he hide _here_? How could I not _notice_?” Genesis fumed, pausing when he reached the stage. “Which way?!” he demanded.

The presence was ghostly and strangely difficult to grasp – odd, for being so close. Normally at this kind of range Cloud would be getting a headache and inexplicable yearnings. “Backstage.” Genesis stormed down the stairs in a whirl of red leather.

It was unnerving for more than just one reason. Not only that they somehow _hadn’t noticed_ the clone’s presence, but that the theatre had not been nearly so private as they’d believed.

Stupid of them. It was the one habitable building they never bothered checking. Who checked their own home, after all?

But how hadn’t Cloud sensed him before now? Even if he’d locked down on the connection, with the clone so near…

Cloud followed closely on Genesis’s heels down into the narrow backstage hallways, and very nearly ran into him when he pulled to a stop and whirled around once more. “ _Where_?”

Cloud frowned, moving forward more slowly now. The pressure behind his eyes grew stronger, though ebbed and flowed with an irregular rhythm, like an unsteady heartbeat. Even as he struggled with disbelief, though, the knowledge pulsed at him, unmistakeable conviction dragging him down the narrow corridor.

He came to a stop outside the furthest room. This far back, no light reached into the building, their way lit only by the faint glow of their eyes. The stench of mildew was pervasive and tickled maddeningly at his senses – it was obviously a part of the theatre Genesis didn’t bother with maintaining, one of the smaller rooms directly under the stage. “Here.”

He reached for his sword, and took a deep breath. The bond held steady, but there didn’t seem to be any movement. Were they expected? They should be. Surely the clone had sensed him coming.

An ambush?

“Be ready,” Cloud cautioned, and then, before he could lose his nerve, pushed open the door.

The room beyond yawned into pitch black darkness.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The room remained still, and black, and empty.

Then two glowing greens circles bloomed in the darkness, and rushed towards them with the speed of freight train.

Even prepared, Cloud barely yanked First Tsurugi up in time. The blow struck with a shuddering jolt that jarred his bones and sent him flying. He crashed through the opposite wall in a shower of plaster.

_Fast_. Faster than even Kadaj.

The darkness fled in an explosion of orange light and heat. _Genesis_. Cloud pulled himself from the wreckage, leaping back to his feet.

Then the bond crashed over him like a breaking wave, and his muscles seized.

Frozen in place, Cloud could do nothing more than stare at the vision stepping into the room across from him, bathed amber in the flickering firelight.

Long trailing silver hair. Black open-chested leather coat. Eyes, mako green, slitted like a snake’s.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Cloud,” Sephiroth murmured.

_This wasn’t happening. Not again_.

“It can’t be,” Genesis rasped.

Sephiroth slanted his old comrade a smirk. “Genesis. It’s been a long time.” He tilted his head. “I’m surprised such a _failure_ is still alive.”

Genesis practically _snarled_ at that, but Sephiroth dismissed him carelessly, turning back to Cloud, stepping closer. “Have you missed me, Cloud?” he asked, voice low and amused. “I told you. I will never be a memory.”

An odd sort of panic gripped him as his foe stepped closer. His hand trembled with effort, but First Tsurugi barely twitched. It felt as though his head were gripped in a vice and the air squeezed from his lungs. “Stay away,” he gasped.

“There’s no need to fight, Cloud. It’s time you came back to me.” Sephiroth took another step closer. Cloud’s muscles jerked him forward even as he struggled to push back. It felt like trying to wade through cement. “There’s a good puppet.” He reached out, as though to caress his face.

Fire burst between them in a blast of roaring light and heat.

Then suddenly, Cloud could _move_ again.

He flung himself forward through the flames, swinging First Tsurugi blindly. He met only air. There was a whoosh of a flapping leather coat. Sephiroth alighted gently on the other side of the room.

“How?” Cloud demanded, voice cracking on the word. He forced back the fear and panic, let it hide under the rising tide of anger – anything to keep focused, to keep his head in the game and his sword steady as they faced off. He hadn’t been prepared for this. They were supposed to be dealing with a _clone_ , not _Sephiroth himself_.

Sephiroth, for his part, merely looked bemused. “Don’t you remember that day, Cloud? Our glorious second _Reunion_?”

“I remember it fine,” he retorted, tightening his grip around First Tsurugi’s hilt. Wished he could forget it, in fact.

“Then why are you so surprised?” Sephiroth regarded him through half-lidded eyes. “Everything I required to return has been waiting for me all along.”

“What about Jenova cells?” Cloud snapped. His muscles were tensed, ready to strike, waiting for the first hint of an opening. The close quarters didn’t sit well with him – this near, if Sephiroth tried to take over again…

Sephiroth wore the barest of condescending smirks. “You were careless, Cloud. You failed to notice what was left behind.”

No …He’d sliced Jenova’s neck in half. Kadaj had leapt after it, and absorbed it…

_He’d sliced Jenova’s neck in half_.

Cloud sucked in a ragged breath.

“Sephiroth!” A third voice demanded. Genesis, sounding irritated at being ignored. Cloud had almost forgotten he was there.

At Genesis’s call, though, Sephiroth suddenly paused. His image wavered for a moment, and in its place stood a broad-chested man, with shorter, wildly spiky hair, white instead of silver, and eyes that were wide and blank instead of narrowed and cunning.

It lasted for only an instant. Abruptly, Sephiroth leapt back through the hole in the wall Cloud had created, and dashed into the hallway. _Running away_?

“Genesis!” Cloud warned, and rushed after him. He couldn’t let him escape, who _knew_ who he’d kill next-

The hallway filled with fire, a dull roar filling his ears. It wasn’t enough. Black feathers scattered in the air. Sephiroth, with one sweep of Masamune, tore straight through the roof, disappearing into the theatre beyond. Plaster and woodchips crashed around them, peppering his arms and face with dust and grit.

Cloud followed, kicking off the wall to follow through the hole. His boots thudded onto the wooden stage, his glowing blue gaze sharp, sweeping the theatre, searching for his enemy…

The heavy exit doors were wrenched open with a crash, torn clean from their hinges. Sephiroth stood by them, framed in the glare of sunlight. He looked strangely insubstantial around the edges.

His voice carried effortlessly across the distance. “I’ll see you again soon, _Cloud_.”

A blast of static, and his muscles were wracked with spasms. Cloud dropped to one knee with a hiss, instinctively rallying his concentration, pushing the awful, crushing pain away. His eyes itched, but he fought it back, and the sensation receded with a snap.

When he struggled back to his feet, Sephiroth was gone.

A whoosh of warm air washed over him as Genesis arrived on the stage, his own black wing sweeping the floor.

_“In mistrust, joy  
_ _In faith, despair  
_ _Cruel are the trials of the Goddess.”_ He turned to him, face grim. “We have a problem, Cloud Strife.”

_There_ was an understatement. But Genesis wasn’t finished.

“That wasn’t a clone.” Genesis said. “That was Weiss.”

 

 


	20. Chapter 19

 

 

It took a moment for Cloud to figure out why exactly that name sounded familiar.

The leader of Tsviets. The man who had channelled Omega.

“I thought Vincent killed him.”

“He survived. Though not unscathed.”

Realisation mixed with disbelief, and the initial stirrings of betrayal.

“You knew,” Cloud said in a low voice. “You knew it wasn’t a clone all along.”

“I was not _entirely_ certain,” Genesis corrected. He folded his wing in close, as though for protection. “Weiss is not exactly a clone after all. But everything else matched.”

It shouldn’t have been such a blow. He’d known there was a connection from the very beginning. As the weeks dragged on, he’d begun to doubt, but he’d been a fool. Genesis was an _actor_. How could he have trusted _any_ reaction, ever thought he truly _knew_ the SOLDIER standing in front of him? Ever let himself believe there was anything more to it? He’d _known_ , he’d been _sure_ Genesis was only interested due to the lack of available partners, that it was nothing but lust and convenience, but after he’d heard about him waiting at the Church… he’d let himself _hope_. _Wanted_ to believe.

Yet all he’d really done was close his eyes and fool himself, let himself forget about the clone and his doubts so he could burrow in the physical and emotional comfort Genesis had offered. The knowledge of how _stupid_ he’d been stung like salt on a still-healing wound.

“You’ve been lying, all this time,” he said.

Genesis shifted in place uncomfortably, though his expression remained smoothly neutral. “I hardly see how any of it matters. We were looking for the same thing, in the end.”

It mattered. _Sephiroth was back,_ running loose in the world, _and so was the leader of Tsviets_. It mattered _a lot_.

And the one sure ally he thought he had left had been lying to him all along.

“I have to go,” Cloud blurted. The sense of _threat_ was growing suffocating. He couldn’t stay there for one more moment.

“Cloud-” Genesis reached out to grab his shoulder, but he sidestepped it sharply.

He had to move. He had to _act_. He’d wasted too much time already. On automatic, he dropped down off the stage’s edge and stalked up the aisle to the exit.

“Cloud Strife!” Genesis called after him, voice as sharp as his sword. “What do you intend to do?”

He paused briefly at the exit, just long enough to say, “We’re done here.” Then he was gone, though the theatre doors, into the burning glare of Midgar before Genesis had the chance to respond.

His chest felt tight, and his head still throbbed from the encounter with Sephiroth. It was hard to think through the swirling revelations, the choking fear and denial that never quite went away no matter how many times he faced his nightmares. He moved entirely on instinct, pace picking up to a run as he leapt and ducked through the surrounding wreckage.

_Running away_ , a voice that sounded remarkably like Tifa whispered in the back of his head, but he pushed it aside. He couldn’t trust Tifa either.

  
……………………..

  
Tifa turned the sign in the window to ‘closed’. The glass felt cool under her fingertips.

It was early yet, but the bar was empty, and she wasn’t in any state to be focusing on customers or dealing with rowdy drunks.

The past few days had been some of the most gruelling of her life, and they hadn’t involved even a single monster. The constant check-ins and questioning from the WRO and the Turks. Hearing that Cloud had attacked Tseng. That ominous black feather. AVALANCHE seeming to come apart at the seams right before her eyes.

How had they reached this point? Only a few months had passed since they had welcomed Shelke into the fold and fought down the DeepGround Uprising together.

Now Nanaki all but growled at the sight of Reeve and Cait. Vincent and Shelke had disappeared off the map. And Cloud was supposed to be the enemy.

Tifa couldn’t buy that. _Wouldn’t_ buy that.

Her footsteps sounded too loud in the oppressive silence. She headed upstairs, pausing outside the empty office, before continuing past to Marlene and Denzel’s bedroom.

Marlene lay on the floor, drawing with crayons. Denzel sat on his bed, reading.

“Have you both done your homework?” Tifa asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” they chorused – Marlene in a sing-song and Denzel in a sigh. Tifa hesitated, suddenly recalling responding the very same to her parents when she’d first started going to lessons. When had she become so _old_?

She shook off the thought quickly – though the memories of her parents no longer stung with grief, she was _not_ ready to start comparing herself to them. Thirty was still a few years away.

Maybe she was simply feeling sentimental after the recent turmoil. She came in and sat on the edge of Denzel’s bed – he shifted his legs somewhat grumpily to accommodate her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to nag. You’ve both been wonderful the past few days. I know it’s been hard.”

Marlene smiled up at her. “It’s okay. I know you’re worried.”

“Cloud _can’t_ come back, can he?” Denzel blurted.

Tifa stiffened. The question had been percolating, she knew, and had dreaded the moment one of them would ask. Now that the moment had arrived, though, she didn’t know how to answer.

“…No,” she finally admitted. “Not here. Not right now. It’s not… safe for him.”

“It’s safe for us, but not for him?” Marlene asked. She sounded confused, but her gaze held a hint of steel. She was a sweet kid, but quickly growing too old for them to keep pulling the wool over her eyes.

“It’s complicated,” Tifa explained. “…SOLDIER things.”

There was a moody silence as they digested that. ‘SOLDIER things’ had at some point become AVALANCHE’s code for matters involving Sephiroth clones or Hojo. Both children had come to recognise the phrase as a sign that no matter how much they asked, they wouldn’t get anything on that topic.

“…When _can_ he come back?” Denzel finally ventured.

Tifa shrugged, and hoped it didn’t look as helpless as it felt. Reeve had assured her the whole lockdown was only a temporary measure, but exactly _how_   temporary was it? A week? _Months_?

Even when it ended, would they be able to coax Cloud back home?

As though reading her thoughts, Denzel grumbled and hunched up in front of his book.

If that was the worst of the sulking she had to deal with, though, she was lucky. “You’ve been more patient than I thought,” Tifa commented. She’d been genuinely worried that when he heard his hero was in trouble, Denzel would immediately run off to try and ‘help’.

Denzel shrugged in return now, gaze shifting awkwardly off to the side. “I have to be. I promised.”

Tifa blinked. “You spoke to Cloud?” _When_?

He ducked his head. “Not in _person_.”

At her blank stare, he reluctantly fished a half-torn piece of paper from his bedside table, scribbled with Cloud’s familiar handwriting. It looked rushed, and her heart twisted at the thought. Her fingers traced the words, until she could almost hear his voice in her head.

_'Denzel. Some things have come up. I’m sorry I can’t be there right now, but you don’t have to worry about me. Promise you’ll take care of Tifa and Marlene in my place.’_

“I’m not a little kid anymore,” Denzel said. “Cloud gave me a job to do. I can’t let him down.”

Tifa cradled the piece of paper in her hands. Cloud still cared about them after all. Enough to at least leave this note.

What had he been feeling as he wrote this?

It should have been such a simple thing to understand. When had it become beyond her? When had her childhood friend, her comrade, become such an enigma to her?

Carefully, Tifa returned the slip of paper. Denzel’s cheeks were red as he took it back and tossed it aside, though it didn’t escape her notice that he darted a quick look to make sure it had landed safely on the table.

“Good for you,” she said. “I certainly feel better knowing you’re looking out for me and Marlene.”

Marlene poked out her tongue. “We’re almost the same age. I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

Denzel made a face in return.

Tifa smiled and left them to it, slipping from the room with a quiet reminder not to stay up too late.

Her footsteps barely disturbed the silence as she returned to her room. The bar downstairs was quiet, and the guest room empty. Barret had been called back to Corel the day before, to deal with some sort of industrial accident with the drilling. Cid had flown him there. Yuffie had taken off in search of Vincent. And while Nanaki was definitely still in town, he currently seemed to prefer prowling the streets at night and sleeping during the day. He’d reacted rather poorly to the whole messy affair.

Everything had happened so slowly, so gradually, they hadn’t noticed anything was wrong until it blew up in their faces. Even when Elena died, nobody seemed to believe it would come to this.

Once safely in the privacy of her room, she picked up her phone and dialled.

“ _Who the hell is it? I’m trying to sleep here!”_

“Sorry, Barret, I need a favour. How soon do you think you can make it back here?”

Tifa was tired of sitting back and waiting.

……………………..

  
The thrum of helicopter blades receded in the distance. Cloud waited until absolute silence pressed over Midgar once more, broken only by the whistle of breeze through the gaps of broken buildings.

He shoved the panel of corrugated iron – a piece of warehouse roof, once upon a time – off to the side. It clattered noisily to the ground, and he tensed, eyes tracking the wide blue sky. He’d avoided the helicopter, but he thought he’d spotted Genesis’s silhouette in the distance earlier.

No sign of anything suspicious in the sky. Good. Hurt and fury still simmered in his chest. Genesis had been on the clone’s – no, _Weiss_ ’s – side from the very beginning. Even after everything he had told him, even after he’d been forced to flee Edge due to the WRO’s paranoia on what apparently was never a clone in the first place.

He’d _trusted_ Genesis, in a way he’d not even been able to bring himself to trust _Tifa_. And to have that thrown back in his face…

The anger burned, and he let it drive his feet forward as he darted through Midgar’s ruined streets. It was a warm cloak, protecting him from fear and doubt – just as it had done the first two times he’d fought Sephiroth. He took that fire, and forged it into focus. This was _Sephiroth’s_ fault, above all else.

He had to take care of it before anyone else could suffer. Sephiroth was out there again, and _nobody knew about it_. He didn’t have any way to warn anyone. He’d left his phone behind, had cut off all means of contact short of going to Edge in person. And going to Edge in person was no longer an option – he couldn’t risk being taken into custody, not with Sephiroth on the loose.

That meant it was up to him, and him alone.

He moved deeper into the city ruins, half following the lurking presence of the bond, half to avoid running across any remaining WRO scouting parties. The same reasons they’d struggled to search for the clone – for _Sephiroth_ , it turned out – would make it hard for them to find him.

Eventually, night began to cast its dark, cool cloak over Midgar. Cloud’s steps gradually slowed, his sprint turning to a run turning to jog turning to a tired, cautious walk. The distant, throaty calls of ahrimans and hounds returning to their lairs died off, leaving only the evening breeze shifting through the grit and debris of the ruins. Tall, bent metal beams lined the street, slabs of torn chipboard and cheap plastic grimly clinging to their edges. If he looked to the end of the road, he could see the hulking remains of ShinRa headquarters, a looming silhouette against a dusky sky.

There was nothing immediately recognisable about the area, but judging by the position of the ShinRa building, he was somewhere deep in Sector 2. This particular part wasn’t an area he and Genesis had covered very thoroughly in their searches, largely because of the lack of surviving structures. Omega’s fault, most likely. It was just rubble, crumbling remains of buildings and piles of shattered concrete.

The thought of Genesis sent a stab of something very much like pain through his chest, but he ruthlessly shoved the thought aside. There were more important things to worry about.

Sephiroth – Weiss – _whoever_ it was, had to be close. He could feel it, like an itch perpetually just out of reach. It had appeared and disappeared throughout the day, leaving him stubbornly chasing the ghosts, the afterimages of it. Terrified of losing the tail, only to discover it again on top of another pile of corpses.

He stopped in the remains of an intersection, the traffic lights tilted at awkward angles. The bond flared briefly, and then stuttered once more into aggravating silence.

“Sephiroth!” His voice bounced hauntingly across the emptiness. “This ends here!”

Deep silence smothered the area. Unnatural. Cloud exhaled, reached for the bond, and felt it flutter just beyond his grasp like a nervous butterfly. Taunting. Teasing.

“Show yourself!”

Only echoes answered him.

Cloud refused to feel stupid for talking to himself. This was just another game. Sephiroth had been leading him on a wild chocobo chase all day, always just _one_ step ahead. For what purpose, he didn’t know. Maybe something as petty as the fact that he knew it would frustrate him.

He was done dancing to that tune. His anger had burned itself down to mere embers, and the ruins of Midgar were starting to feel less and less like sanctuary and more like a vast, lonely prison.

“I can do this all night.” He might tire eventually, but so would Sephiroth. And Cloud refused to be the first to give in.

Leather swooshed and silver flashed in the corner of his eye.

Cloud spun, but met only darkness and silence.

His imagination?

He hated this. It had been too long, and he’d grown used to ignoring the bond. Had forgotten the way it made it difficult to trust his eyes and ears. The shadows didn’t feel natural anymore – too dark and deep for the twilight hour. The sort that hid monsters and nightmares.

His breath felt like it was scraping against his throat, his heartbeat like a drum in his chest as his senses went hypersensitive, alert to even the faintest of sounds. His fingers searched for First Tsurugi, for the reassuring weight of something solid.

“ _Cloud_.”

He whirled, sword bared. Sephiroth stood behind him. Too close. _When_ -

The bond – the fragile, fleeting presence he’d followed all day – crashed over him like an icy tsunami, freezing his muscles, a numbing blanket of electricity paralysing him.

Sephiroth smirked, walking forward with condescending casualness. “You’re all alone now, _Cloud_.”

He twitched, fingers trembling against the hold, struggling to keep their grip on First Tsurugi’s hilt. Sephiroth moved closer, his gait unhurried, Masamune not even at the ready. Unworried. He stopped, close enough to touch, and raised his hand.

That was when Cloud struck.

The pressure vanished under the swipe of his sword, as Sephiroth had to split his attention to draw and block. The clash of their swords rang across the ruins.

“That’s not going to work,” Cloud said. “I’m prepared now.” Then he twisted, and _swung._

Sephiroth barely evaded – a sliver of leather floated free and vanished into shadow. Masamune danced, striking and jabbing in retaliation, but to Cloud’s eyes it might as well have been moving underwater. He sidestepped easily, and pushed forward, sweeping into a heavy cross-slash. His opponent avoided the first two strikes and caught the third, stepping back to bear its weight.

“Did you miss me, Cloud?” Sephiroth drawled. “How hard life must be for a puppet without its master.”

Cloud responded by slamming First Tsurugi into the road. Three razors of blue energy tore through the asphalt. Sephiroth knocked the centre one aside with a slash of his blade – the others blew past him, sending his leather coat flapping.

Cloud was already moving into his next attack, pushing forward with wide, brutal swings. Masamune met each strike, swords sparking and singing with each scrape as they blocked and parried. Their blades tangled, and for a moment they fought with strength alone, muscles straining for advantage.

“I’ve been watching you from the Lifestream,” Sephiroth said, leaning forward into the lock. “Have you begun to see yet? How pathetic and scared humans are.” The mako glow in his eyes flared. “They fear you as they once feared me.”

A rising tide of static crawled through his bones. Cloud twisted out of the block and lashed out with his elbow, going for the nose. It missed, but the static receded. Sephiroth landed gracefully a short distance away.

“Still so blind. Still in denial,” Sephiroth taunted, words almost _gentle_ in their mocking.

“Quit talking,” Cloud snapped. “I have nothing to say to you.” He jumped into a half-height Braver. Sephiroth whirled away, losing another sliver of his coat in the process.

Somewhere inside a grain of hope took hold, a bulwark against the barely-restrained fear.

This was _easy_. The strength and speed and technique were all there, but it was as though Sephiroth’s reflexes had dulled, half a second behind what they used to be.

Half a second was all Cloud needed.

He could _win_ this.

The knowledge fuelled him as he dashed forward, First Tsurugi bared. Sephiroth danced backwards, barely avoiding each strike and jab, Masamune a gleaming silver snake in the dusky light. He retaliated in kind, but Cloud knocked each attack aside easily. Too slow to concern him.

Some part of Sephiroth must have recognised his disadvantage, even if his expression didn’t shift from its usual condescending amusement. His taunts died away, replaced only with clashing steel. His boots left thick trails in the dust instead of barely touching the ground. His overwhelming offensive stance slowly slid into defence.

And still, Cloud pushed him back. Each slash a little closer, a little heavier. Driving his opponent into corners, knocking him off balance. Turning that half a second into _opportunities_.

He could do it. He could _end_ this.

Sephiroth leapt into the sky, seeking distance, black wing spreading forth. Cloud followed, twisting into a Sky Fang. His blade raked through feathers. They crashed into the side of a half-collapsed building. He swept the billowing dust away with one broad sweep of his sword, and then knocked aside a slash from Masamune that tore through the ground half a breath later.

Then his worst enemy was standing there, off balance from a hasty attack.

Cloud saw his chance.

His thumb hit the sword release. His blade split in two.

His feet thudded against his ground. Sephiroth turned as though in slow motion, struggling to get into position in time.

Then three strides away, Cloud pushed off with his foot, rebounded against a slab of concrete, and drove straight for Sephiroth’s exposed flank.

Only instead of silver steel or black leather, his sword struck crimson.

Cloud quickly pushed off the block, twisting midair to land a short distance away. He dragged in a breath, readjusted his stance, turned to take a proper look at the interloper and-

“ _Genesis_?”

The former SOLDIER stood between them, rapier blocking Cloud, other hand nursing a fireball. In the dusky twilight he was a beacon of unearthly reds that turned his features harsh.

“What are you doing?” Cloud hissed. “Get out of the way.”

In response, Genesis’s rapier began to glow an ethereal crimson, waves of heat pouring from it and tousling his hair. He raised it to eye level, tip angled towards him, settling into an all-too-familiar stance.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Cloud Strife.”

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 20

 

 

Cloud immediately tried to sidestep, but Genesis’s rapier glowed red-hot, a stream of embers blasting from it like a Blade Beam. Even from half a body length away the heat stung worse than a naked flame.

He backed up a step, just long enough to focus his attention on the materia in his pocket, before feinting right and dashing left again. The rapier flared once more.

And met a blast of water.

There was a shriek of contracting metal and a cloud of hissing steam that burned nearly as intensely as the fire itself. Before Cloud could dart by him, Genesis whirled, tossing the flame he carried in his other hand at his feet.

It exploded into a raging fireball that scorched the ground black. Cloud had no choice but to retreat once more.

“You’re activating the materia without even holding it, now,” Genesis remarked. “You _do_ learn fast.” With a twirl of his fingers, both the rapier and the fireball reignited near-instantly. “However, in _this_ , I am the _best_.”

_‘Are you crazy_?’ rested on the tip of his tongue, but Cloud couldn’t force those particular words past his lips, not when he’d faced them so often himself. Not when there was such a good chance of them being true.

Instead, he demanded, “ _Why_?”

Sephiroth chuckled – a low, threatening sound that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. “Didn’t you know, Cloud? I was friends with Genesis _long_ before he met _you_.” He gestured to himself, a lazy, elegant movement encompassing his form. “And he couldn’t _possibly_ let any more harm befall this vessel, after all.”

“Don’t presume to speak for me,” Genesis snapped.

Genesis didn’t deny it, though.

Cloud took a long measured breath. So that’s how it was.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Genesis had interceded _before_ on Weiss’s behalf, hadn’t he? Back when Cloud had first spotted him, near the base of ShinRa headquarters.

But that didn’t matter now. None of it mattered. All that mattered was fixing things. Sending the dead back to the Lifestream, to his memories, where they _belonged_.

Cloud paced warily in front of them, circling, trying to find the most advantageous position. Genesis turned with him, the glow from his rapier pulsing like a heartbeat, the faint hum of magic deafening in the sudden silence. Sephiroth, for his part, seemed content to wait and observe this new development with quiet amusement, Masamune at the ready.

Either of them alone he could take on and win. But both of them at once?

He flexed his fingers around First Tsurugi’s hilt, and ran a quick mental check of the materia he’d slipped into his pockets that morning.

There was only one choice. If he was outnumbered, then the smart thing to do was to even the odds.

Cloud threw himself backwards at top speed.

Genesis and Sephiroth were slow to react, half-shifting to counter, only to be caught off-guard by his sudden retreat.

Until Cloud reached into his pocket and withdrew a ruby-coloured materia.

“A Summon!” Genesis swore. He swept his arm out, throwing a raging torrent of fire after him.

It was too late. It wouldn’t reach in time. Any materia he couldn’t cast with fast enough didn’t get brought to the fight.

He poured energy into the spell, enough that his vision blurred for a moment, and then flung the light into the sky.

The air shook with thunder as the portal opened above him. Lightning crackled around the edges, bathing their surroundings in a pearlescent glow. Cloud hit the ground and rolled, the pursuing flames passing overhead in a wave of blistering heat.

From the portal, streams of energy solidified, darkening into metallic black armour, followed by vast, midnight-purple wings. Long neck, vicious claws, eyes glowing with ethereal power. The king of dragons.

Neo Bahamut.

The air shook with Bahamut’s roar as he spat a bullet of energy at the ground. Genesis and Sephiroth scattered, but Cloud was already on his feet, dashing towards his foe. Let his summon keep Genesis busy, while _he_ took out Sephiroth.

Masamune met his strike, but Cloud slid and ducked and struck again, angling for a weak spot, any gap in Sephiroth’s defences. Another blast of flame from Genesis burst at his back but he swatted it aside with a wall of water. Bahamut roared again and the air flashed with more flares. Out the corner of his eye he could see Genesis take wing, making himself a more difficult target, lobbing frantic fireballs at the summon gnashing at his heels.

The whisper of metal through air dragged his attention forward. Pain ripped along his arm, Cloud a second too slow in his distraction to entirely twist out of Masamune’s path. Blood ran in thin rivers along his elbow, scattering crimson droplets in the air.

“You can’t afford to split your attention, _Cloud_.” Sephiroth said his name like it was a spell, a command to freeze him in place. It infuriated him how very nearly it seemed to work.

He responded by sweeping his leg out, attempting to steal Sephiroth’s feet from under him. His opponent merely evaded, side-stepping to attack his flank. Cloud blocked, off-balance and compensating with raw strength. His thumb hit the sword release, the force of the swords breaking apart giving him a moment’s edge. He snatched the lightest piece and stabbed it at Sephiroth’s leg.

It sliced the boot, but didn’t break skin. Sephiroth whirled away, Masamune flashing, the blade’s song lost under the background cacophony of Bahamut’s roars and exploding fireballs.

A sudden change in air pressure had Cloud check his next attack, turning to gauge the next threat. Neo Bahamut hovered in the air, hide now scored with burns but still raining crackling white salvos of energy across the battlefield. His gaze skated across the sky, but there was no sign of that distinctive black wing anywhere.

_Where was Genesis_?

As though in answer, magic flared – a tingling sensation in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. A spell. A _big_ one.

That was the only warning before a bolt of red light shot out and struck the road. A ring of fire spread from it, scorching the ground black in its wake. The asphalt turned molten, and then bursting from the magma came a titan, horns and flames and fiery mane, curved black claws and leathery hide.

_Ifrit_?

Genesis stood across the burning void, hand raised and coat flapping from the turbulent waves of heat. “You are not the only one capable of commanding Summon materia, Cloud Strife!”

Ifrit bellowed, crouched, and _launched_ himself into the sky, a cannonball of flesh and claws and flame. The air filled with roars as the summon sank his claws into Bahamut’s underbelly, and Bahamut in turn latched his teeth onto Ifrit’s shoulder.

Cloud reached for his Water materia again – one good blast with that would put Ifrit out of commission and free up _his_ summon once more – but had to jerk back around to parry another slash of Masamune. The shock of the impact travelled up his arm, making his shoulder ache.

He swept out his leg in a kick, forcing Sephiroth back long enough to rejoin the blades. He slammed the full sword against the ground, unleashing a devastating Blade Beam. Sephiroth dodged, only for First Tsurugi to score a second slash mere moments later on his left side. The wound was shallow, seeping blood only for seconds before advanced healing knitted the skin closed.

Then suddenly Genesis was there between them, free to join the fight with Bahamut’s attention occupied. He broke Cloud’s momentum and forced his next attack off course. Cloud clenched his jaw in frustration, throwing his full weight behind his next strike, doing all he could to push Genesis off-balance long enough to get a clean shot at Sephiroth. But even when he gained a window, Masamune was there, parrying his every attempt, and by the time he’d gained the upper hand again Genesis had regained his feet, throwing fireballs at his back.

The ground shook as the summons crashed back to earth, snarling. Bahamut had sheer size and strength on his side, but Ifrit had sunk his blazing claws into the base of the dragon’s long neck, grimly clinging on just out of reach of the summon’s deadly jaws. The pair of monoliths rolled across the landscape, crushing the few surviving structures under them as they grappled. Waves of dust and grit and smoke washed over them, stinging their eyes.

Cloud didn’t let himself blink – he couldn’t afford it, not with both Genesis and Sephiroth in the fray. It was pure chaos, a whirlwind of steel and leather and black feathers with a backdrop of fire and destruction.

Cloud split his sword, one driving at Sephiroth, the other slashing at his flank to intercept Genesis. He spun on his heel, a sword guarding his back, breaking the second blade _again_ to throw it at Ifrit. The bellow of pain was the only confirmation that his strike struck true, as he’d already moved to deflect Sephiroth’s next attack and duck another volley of flames.

In the background, Bahamut’s cry thundered, the dragon finally freed of Ifrit’s grasp. His wings were shredded and armour charred with deep grooves from Ifrit’s claws. Cloud could sense the magic fading, Bahamut gathering the last of it in his gullet.

Then with one mighty blast, he finally blew the other summon away. Ifrit vanished in the blinding light of a point-blank Tera Flare.

Victorious at last, but Cloud cursed under his breath. The energy he’d poured into the summoning had been spent, and Bahamut dispersed into motes of light not a moment later. The materia felt dead in his pocket – even if he had the strength to spare, he wouldn’t be able to summon Neo Bahamut again for some time.

Which meant he was back to the original problem – two against one, short a piece of his sword, and the first signs of exhaustion and strain creeping their way in.

He dragged his full attention back to the swordfight, just in time to block another sweep from Masamune. The clashing metal sounded dull and hollow after the booming cacophony of the summons’ battle. Cloud spun and parried, throwing increasingly weak blankets of water to douse Genesis’s fire magic, even as he dove for every window, real or fake, in Sephiroth’s defence. His arms burned from the strain, blood sliding under his gloves. His grip tightened to compensate, making each block and parry all the more stiff and jarring. He moved into a Cross Slash, operating on muscle memory and instinct alone. Sephiroth dodged the first strike, barely parried the second, but Genesis appeared between them once more to catch the third.

Then Sephiroth smirked, and suddenly brought Masamune down on Genesis’s back.

Time seemed to slow. Adrenaline flooded his system, the fatigue suddenly only a memory. With a speed he didn’t think his muscles had left, Cloud shoved Genesis aside, sending him stumbling out of range. Masamune crashed against First Tsurugi hard enough to shatter the pavement beneath his feet.

“Hmph.” Sephiroth leaned against the block. “I don’t think you’re committed enough to fighting me, Cloud. He’s in the way.”

“He’s _helping_ you,” Cloud spat back venomously, voice strained with the effort of holding Masamune back.

“Isn’t this touching?” Sephiroth purred. “You defend him even though he’s a _traitor_.”

“I’m not letting you kill anyone else.” His heart still thudded in his chest, too fast and too loud and his breath felt like it was coming too short. An instant slower, and they would have been fighting over a corpse.

Genesis rallied, visibly rattled by the near miss but already pulling himself together. “I shouldn’t be surprised you lack even the strategy to keep _yourself_ alive, Sephiroth. Still fighting without honour. You’re a disgrace to the name of SOLDIER.”

Sephiroth smirked. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?” He raised his sword again and-

Stumbled.

His form seemed to waver for an instant, a glimpse of Weiss fading through. Before Cloud could strike, though, he leapt out of reach, black wing spreading wide as it carried him safely away.

Sephiroth looked, oddly enough, _irritated_. “As amusing as this is, I’m afraid I don’t have any more time to play with _failures_ today.” He raised his hand, and suddenly the static that had been nothing but a background noise throughout the fight rose, the bond constricting around his neck like an invisible hand. Cloud grit his teeth against it, dropping to a knee as his muscles failed to obey him. “I’ll be waiting, _Cloud_.”

Then he was gone as quickly as he’d come, disappearing into the gloomy sky.

Cloud barely swallowed his gasp as the bond receded like a snapping rubber band. He slammed his fist against the ground in frustration, pavement cracking from the impact. Sephiroth had been _right there_ , and he’d been frozen in place, _helpless_. _Again._

That was twicenow. It wasn’t like Sephiroth to run away, to _avoid_ fighting Cloud, regardless of how many others were present. Even after so many defeats, he was so self-assured, so confident in his abilities. What was he doing? What was he _planning_?

Whatever it was, Cloud couldn’t let him get away with it.

He pushed himself back to his feet, ready to follow, but Genesis raised his rapier in warning. “Don’t.”

“I’m not letting him get away,” Cloud said. His grip tightened around First Tsurugi, leather gloves creaking from the pressure. “Don’t interfere.” It was offered as a warning, not as a request. Cloud would grant that much, given everything he’d thought they’d shared.

If Genesis still wanted to fight after that, then...

Genesis huffed, and finally let the spell thrumming through his rapier die. “Dear Goddess, would you simply stop and _listen_ for a moment? For once I have no desire to fight you, Cloud Strife. But have you perhaps forgotten that there is an innocent party involved in this?”

_Weiss_? “Weiss is no more innocent than Sephiroth. He’s just as dangerous.” The tragedies brought about by DeepGround were half the cause of this whole mess.

“ _Weiss_ has been _catatonic_ since the Omega incident,” Genesis snapped. “He’s as much a drooling fool as you were after you and Zack Fair escaped from Hojo.”

Cloud stared, a cold sensation creeping over him like Shiva’s fingers on his skin at the implication. _Catatonic_? He couldn’t be implying… “Explain.”

“After I awoke, I discovered his body nearby. I took it upon myself to take care of him. There has been little change for months.” Genesis paused, gaze turning inward. “Yet one day, without warning, when I went to provide him with food and water he was gone.”

“You were _taking care of him_?” Cloud repeated incredulously. “ _Weiss_? The leader of  _DeepGround_?”

“He was _helpless_ ,” Genesis spat. “I am not so lacking in honour that I would leave a _child_ to die a slow death, not when the man is all but a _brother_.”

_That_ word crawled across his skin like something unpleasantly slimy, memories of Kadaj’s taunts whispering in his ears.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself to focus. The _how_ first – he could worry about the  _why_ after. “When was this?”

Genesis waved a dismissive hand. “Not long after we first met. Naturally, I searched for him. But you know as well as I do how difficult that is in the rubble of Midgar. When I finally found him...” He gave a mocking bow. “You know what happened."

"And nothing since?" Cloud asked, not even bothering to hide the doubt in his voice.

Genesis shook his head. “ _My Friend, your dream  
_ _Heralds the return of the Goddess  
_ _Restless wandering without respite  
_ _History’s search has no conclusion._ ”

It was an entirely inappropriate time to be quoting poetry. Cloud’s thoughts were far too jumbled to notice, though. He was irritated. Confused. It was too much information to parse at once, when his instincts were screaming at him that he didn’t have time to worry about it, that he needed to be pursuing, to be _fighting_. And that he shouldn’t believe _anything_ Genesis told him, not after he’d hidden this knowledge for so long, and especially not after _defending Sephiroth_.

But now that he _was_ thinking, instead of simply reacting, more and more questions kept presenting themselves.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured to himself. “Even with the other half of Jenova’s neck… Weiss wasn’t a clone, was he?” He wished he could get in touch with Vincent. Vincent knew the most about the DeepGround incident. But he didn’t have his phone anymore, and even if he did, Vincent had gone into hiding with Shelke.

This time, he was truly on his own.

“Perhaps a clone was never necessary,” Genesis remarked.

Startled, Cloud dragged his attention back to the former SOLDIER. “What?”

“There are two things that determine every SOLDIER’s makeup – mako, and Jenova cells.” Genesis was moving into lecture mode, pacing back and forth as he talked. “Processed mako on its own causes mutations. You’ll have seen the same effects on monsters living near Reactors. There are a variety of successful processes, but the part _you_ are concerned with are the Jenova cells.”

He paused, as though waiting for a response – or maybe just for theatrical effect. “…There are two types of these, as well. Most SOLDIERs receive an injection of inert Jenova cells. This is what I received, as did Zack Fair prior to his capture by Hojo. The other kind are _S-cells_.” His lip curled on the words, as though they were dirty. “They are a special type of _modified,_ some might say  _living_ Jenova cells. That is what you and Sephiroth possess.”

Cloud knew that already. “So you’re saying that he doesn’t even need clones? He just needs someone already enhanced with Jenova cells?” A pit opened in his stomach. Would the nightmare _never_ end? Was he going to have go through this every two years for the _rest of his life_?

Genesis frowned, staring into the distance where Sephiroth had retreated. “Not precisely. His hold on Weiss is evidently weak," he noted. "He possesses Jenova cells, like all SOLDIERs – like myself, too - but the connection is a thin one. If I am correct – and I _am_ \- Sephiroth can only manifest because Weiss lacks any will with which to fight him." He sniffed. “Pathetic, really.”

Cloud’s thoughts flashed to Kadaj’s gang, when they’d kidnapped the children suffering from Geostigma.

_Only_ children, though. Those who were young. Unsure. Malleable.

And then there was Weiss. According to Genesis, Weiss had been reduced to a blank slate.

Just like Cloud had been, once upon a time.

A perfect puppet.

The edges of First Tsurugi’s hilt dug painfully into his palm.

"It doesn't appear he has the strength to take control for long periods, either, if his pattern thus far is anything to go by,” Genesis mused.

It was a good point. Sephiroth had retreated. Twice, now, and his reaction times had been sluggish by his usual standards. Cloud had assumed he was planning something… but if Sephiroth _couldn’t_ manifest for long periods, and needed to save strength to try… that might explain a lot.

Each time he’d retreated, just beforehand, the façade had faded for a moment. It might have accounted for why the bond was so frustratingly intermittent and vague, too. And why else would Sephiroth have laid in wait, hiding, for so long?

A long, awkward silence stretched between them.

"We should find cover,” Genesis eventually said, frowning at the destruction wreaked by their battle. Small fires still flickered from Ifrit's summoning, and smoke curled from the craters left by Bahamut's flares.

It was late, and dark enough out that the odds of the Turks or WRO still having search patrols nearby were slim. But if any of them _were_ within the city walls, or had any sort of vantage point, that battle would have been impossible to miss. People would be coming to investigate.

“The theatre would be best,” he continued, and eyed the blood coating Cloud’s arm. “Are you going to use a Cure on that?”

Cloud ignored it – the wound had been worse than he first thought, given that it was still sluggishly bleeding even now, but he could barely feel it. “You can go. I still need to stop Sephiroth.”

“In your state?” Genesis scoffed. “You’re bleeding and exhausted. Even _I_ would be tired after summoning _that_ creature, not to mention your casual abuse of Water materia you haven’t even fully mastered.”

Cloud kept his attention carefully focused on the distance. “It didn’t help that I had to fight two people instead of one.”

The pointed silence following _that_ statement was so sharp it could have drawn blood.

“ _Even if the morrow should not forgive me  
_ _I shall carry no regrets_.” Genesis murmured into the wind. The faint whine of helicopter rotors began to rise in the distance – still far enough away not to be a concern, but they would have to move soon.

Cloud went to collect the stray piece of his sword he’d thrown at Ifrit. The parts rejoined with a heavier _clunk_ than normal – First Tsurugi would need a lot of maintenance after a battle like that. “It doesn’t matter. If your theory’s right, Sephiroth will be weak right now. This is the best time to strike.”

Genesis’s eyes narrowed. “In case you missed my point before, let me make this _perfectly clear_ , Cloud Strife. Our enemy is _Sephiroth_ , not _Weiss.”_

And that right there was the thought Cloud didn’t want to consider, had been stubbornly ignoring as though hoping he could wish it out of existence.

If Weiss really _were_ catatonic, if he were being controlled…

How different was that to Cloud handing over the Black Materia? And even the atrocities committed by the Tsviets… how different was that to what Genesis had done in the past? Or the _Turks_? And for that matter, how much of even _that_ could they attribute to Weiss? How much was Omega and Hojo?

And all of that led to another unsettling question.

…Was Genesis to Weiss what Zack had been to Cloud?

His stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought.

Cloud didn't want to consider the implications of that right then.

He was Zack's living legacy, and Zack had fought for him until the bitter end. It would have been so much easier for Zack to kill him or abandon him, to shed the risk and the burden. He likely would have survived if he had.

The situation with Weiss was not the same, but the parallels were too many to ignore.

This was going to become complicated.

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 21

 

 

Watery morning sunlight filtered through the bar’s blinds. Tifa stared at the thin patterns of light across the tables as she wrapped an extra layer of padding around her knuckles. She hadn’t been training lately, and her hands weren’t quite as tough as they used to be. As tough as they  _needed_ to be, for this.

Her mouth moved on automatic, spilling out the mental checklist running in the background. “The kids get back from school by three - they know to call if they’re going to be late, you’ve got your phone with you, right? And, oh – the bar! You don’t have to worry about it, I’ve been closing early anyway, I’ll leave it up to you, but if you do decide to open we’re all out Wutai liquors, there’s another order coming in but it’s not due for a few days yet so I should be back in time for that. And if there’s an emergency I’ll have my phone too-”

“I got it, I got it!” Barret interrupted. His clothes were rumpled and his beard scraggly from the overnight trip – he’d not even been there long enough to freshen up, but Tifa wanted to get moving as soon as Nanaki showed face. “I know I ain’t around that much, but I know all this already!”

Tifa bit her lip, and tugged on her gloves. “You’re right, Barret. Sorry. Thanks for making it back so quickly. I wouldn’t feel right leaving the kids alone at the moment.”

“Ah, it ain’t no trouble. Woulda been here anyway, but you know how it is. Maybe if I’d been around a bit more mighta noticed something was up earlier.”

Unlikely. Whenever Barret was in town he was too busy spoiling the kids rotten to pay much attention to anything else. Still, Tifa could recognise Barret’s own brand of clumsy regret, so kept that thought to herself. In some ways, it was comforting to know she wasn’t the only one wondering ‘what if’.

“Hey, Barret, do you think what Tseng was suggesting is true?” Her voice sounded distant even to her own ears.

“Whaddya mean? The bit about Spikey going all… you know?” He scratched at his beard with his normal hand, face scrunched in thought. “I don’t know too much about all that crap with Sephiroth,” he eventually replied. “You know I wasn’t there for all that like you an’ Spikey were. So I dunno, really. Whatever you decide, I guess. I’m behind you all the way!” He slammed his gun arm against the table for extra emphasis. “If it means we fight Spikey, or we wind up fightin’ against Reeve, I don’t care which!”

The sentiment brought a smile to her face, though it felt tired on her cheeks. It must have shown, because Barret gave her a beady stare and grunted, “You sure _you_ alright, Tifa? Need any backup? Cid ain’t far away, right? Or we could get someone else to watch the kids.”

“It’s fine,” she said, clenching her fists a couple of times to test the wrappings. “I’ll have backup.” She was confident in her abilities, but she hadn’t forgotten how Loz had laid her flat in the Church a year and a half ago. Fights against even regular monsters were safer all around with an ally. “Call them in if you can, but I don’t want to wait.” She’d waited too long already.

The jingle of the bell and jangle of beads from the front door caught their attention. When they glanced over, Nanaki paused in the doorway, flank holding it open. “Tifa, Barret,” he greeted nonchalantly.

After the past few days she’d had, Tifa wasn’t having any of that. She stormed over and grasped Nanaki by the scruff of his neck. “We’re going, Barret. You know how to contact me.”

“Good luck!” Barret called as she physically dragged their four-legged comrade outside.

“Tifa!” Nanaki half-yelped. “What’s this all about?”

“You’re coming with me,” she said firmly. “I know you’ve been avoiding everyone, but this is important.”

He dug in his paws, a low growl forming in his throat. “I won’t help you look for Cloud. It would only lead the WRO straight to him.”

“We’re not looking for Cloud.” She dug the keys from her pocket for the pickup truck. “We’re doing what we should have done a long time ago. We,” Tifa said, “are going to go find this clone for _ourselves_.”

……………

“ _My Friend, the dream is Lost  
_ _There is no prisoner, no hope  
_ _The sword has fallen upon your feet_  


_My Soul cleansed of darkness  
_ _Desires only truth  
_ _To defy shadows and return to glory  
_ _And end Your endless journey  
_ _Now all that remains to want_ _  
_ _Is only vengeance…_ ”

Genesis quoted poetry in the background, giving Cloud the time and space to think while he sat on the edge of the stage, turning everything over and over in his head.

In the end, the need for cover and recovery had led to Cloud reluctantly accompanying Genesis back to the theatre. While he still couldn’t bring himself to trust everything Genesis said, the similarities to Zack’s story had rattled him. He didn’t know what to do next.

Old habits from AVALANCHE’s days on the run had him forcing down some food, and following it up with both a potion and an ether to make up for the day’s exertion and the lack of proper rest. Then he’d sat down and checked over First Tsurugi meticulously, inspecting it for damage and sharpening each blade to perfection.

Now, he was left only with his thoughts. Anxiety thrummed through him, like he’d cast Haste on himself only to find he had nothing to fight and nowhere to go. It was frustrating.

How much time did they have left? Already sunlight had begun to shine through the holes in the theatre’s roof. He was frittering away precious hours on indecision, obsessing over the predicament Weiss had presented instead of figuring out what to _do_ about it.

“… _The morrow is robbed of hope  
_ _Yet still, you are beloved  
_ _Rising to the heavens on broken wings  
_ _So let it be my fate…_ ”

Logic and basic battle strategy insisted that he really did need to find a way to somehow inform at least AVALANCHE that Sephiroth had returned. But if everyone else knew, they’d simply want to kill him again. Cloud honestly couldn’t blame them. And if AVALANCHE heard that Sephiroth was using Weiss’s body, that would only make things worse. How could Cloud explain that they wanted to try to _save_ Weiss?

For that matter, how _could_ they save Weiss? Maybe he’d better think about that first before he started imagining all the worst-case scenarios.

In his own experiences, willpower was the largest factor in beating back the call for Reunion. Weiss didn’t have that – if he were in the state Genesis had described, it would take months of rehabilitation at a _minimum_ to get him to the point of resistance. The only other way to fight Jenova’s taint was…

An idea began to form. "The Church," he murmured.

Genesis halted his soliloquy. “You have something?”

Cloud nodded slowly. “It's a matter of will. Geostigma was, at its most basic level, Jenova's taint and the body's adverse reaction to it," he said. "But the previous clones... they infused their will into the water in the Sleeping Forest, and those that drank it were taken over. Or more like… their will was displaced by the water they drank."

Genesis made a sound of agreement. "The Lifestream is, after all, reputed to be the collective will and thoughts of countless generations of life." At Cloud's surprised glance, he smirked condescendingly. "It _is_ the very basis of Materia Theory."

Right. Genesis understood the concept that will and memories were something that could be stored and transmitted physically, then. That saved him some explanation. "The water in the Church... it’s a cleansing agent. It counteracted Geostigma."

Genesis was quick to catch on. “And you think it could help Weiss too?” He frowned. "But what about you? You still have that connection with Sephiroth." His gaze was sharp. “I saw you freeze up. It’s not only Weiss he has influence over.”

Cloud shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. “I was caught off-guard.” It had been a long time since Sephiroth had tried to exert his influence so directly – it was odd that he’d tried again after so long. Even when he returned with Kadaj, he’d merely tested it, used it as an irritant, a mental jab to accompany the ones made of steel.

“But you didn’t use this water to cure it?” The doubt was plain in Genesis’s tone.

"It cured my Geostigma. But S-cells are... different."

Hojo had been thorough with him. He could no more get rid of S-cells than a tree could get rid of chlorophyll. He'd looked into it during his research on Geostigma, but they were so woven into his genetic makeup now that it was a wonder his hair hadn’t turned silver.

Genesis’s stare was heavy and assessing. It was oddly reminiscent of the expression he wore in their first confrontations, back when they were still trying to place each other in their memories and solve the mysteries of the other’s existence. “So we bank on the fact that Weiss does not carry S-cells specifically, and that this distinction is enough to make the water work.” He ran his fingers lightly across the sword hilt hanging against his thigh. “The challenge then lies in the confrontation.” His lips quirked with sardonic amusement. “I believe there are some buckets in the prop storage.”

Not exactly elegant, but since when did Cloud care about that?

Anxiety plagued him, however. The fear hadn’t left, even with a plan. There was still too much that didn’t make sense, too many doubts he couldn’t put into words. The certainty that they’d overlooked something vital. It was a primal instinct, a dread conditioned by horror after horror, a terror he could never entirely quash even as he fought through it.

Genesis studied him at length in the ensuing silence. “Do not misunderstand, Cloud Strife. I am grateful for your assistance here, but I have to ask – can I trust you with this?”

Cloud stared at him. “After the last few days, you’re asking me about _trust_?”

“Weiss is important to me,” Genesis snapped in turn. “It is a matter of duty. But I am perfectly aware that you might not feel the same.”

Something inside him twisted painfully. “I have to consider the danger to the Planet, too. I’ll do everything I can, but this is bigger than Weiss, you know.”

Their gazes met, two shades of glowing blue steel. And without a word, Cloud could sense a line being drawn between them.

He averted his eyes. “Let’s get moving. We can’t waste any more time.”

……………….

Nanaki trudged somewhat begrudgingly beside her as they made their way through the outer edge ruins of Sector 7. Tifa brushed her hair from her eyes and squinted into the distance, trying to make something out of the piles of rubble. This part of Midgar was nothing but various shades of grey concrete and metal, the depressing landscape broken only occasionally by the remains of a faded shop sign and Nanaki’s red fur beside her.

They’d left the truck a short distance inside the city walls – the last thing Tifa wanted was to be worried about their ride back busting a tire or breaking an axle. So their progress was slow – Midgar was _big_ , and even if the terrain weren’t littered with hazards it could take the better part of a day to walk from the walls to the inner districts. To cross any of the sectors on foot could take close to half of that.

The morning sun was uncomfortably warm on her back, and her hair was already beginning to cling to the sweat beading the nape of her neck. She really was out of shape if just this much activity was enough to tire her out. It only took a couple of months of soft living, apparently.

“Have anything?” Tifa asked.

Nanaki hunched. “No. If the clone were so easy to find, I would have by now.”

Tifa shielded her eyes against the sun, and pointed down a road to their left. “Then we’ll head this way.”

“Any particular reason?” he grouched.

Tifa shugged. She couldn’t track like Nanaki could, nor Cloud, or probably even Yuffie. But she’d grown up in Nibelheim and learned a thing or two about terrain and hunting – and later, after joining AVALANCHE, of _hiding_. “Nothing solid. But there’s a clear path, and more cover.” She waved a hand at the sloping remains of the Plate. “And it’s a blind spot for all the nearest vantage points. You’d have to fly directly overhead to get any kind of view.”

Nanaki kept pace, even if he didn’t stop grumbling. “Cloud himself couldn’t find the clone when he was looking, and neither has Vincent or the WRO. What makes you think _we’ll_ have any more luck?”

“I don’t know if we will. Maybe we won’t. But I don’t believe Cloud’s going to become another Sephiroth.” She curled and uncurled her fists, focusing on the pull of leather across her knuckles. It was better than remembering Tseng revealing that black feather. “The WRO and Turks are so busy focusing on that, they’ve all forgotten about the clone. So we’re going to find the clone, and _prove_ they don’t need to worry about Cloud.”

It was grasping at straws, she recognised that. Even if they were successful, it still might not fix everything. But until they solved at least that mystery, _nothing_ would be fixed.

In Tifa’s mind, a chance was better than nothing. AVALANCHE had gambled on worse in the past.

That sent Nanaki into a pensive silence. An ahriman screeched overhead, wheeling close to investigate, and veering off just as quickly when it spotted Nanaki. Humans were one thing, but there was no mistaking a fellow predator.

“It’s dangerous. Midgar isn’t safe for regular people,” Nanaki eventually said.

“It can’t be any worse than Mount Nibel, and I was the best climber in Nibelheim. I’m not worried about a little mako in the air either. I went for a swim in the stuff and came out fine.” She side-eyed him. “Why are you trying so hard to talk me out of this? Hiding something?”

Nanaki ducked his head sheepishly. It was as good as an admission of guilt.

She didn’t bother pushing, though. When Nanaki wanted to keep a secret, wild chocobos couldn’t drag it out of him – much to Turks’ recent frustration.

It did, however, sharpen her suspicion that Cloud was hiding in Midgar. Realistically, he could have gone anywhere on the Planet, but the Turks and the WRO had been focusing their efforts on Midgar, and Tifa was inclined to agree.

She shoved the thought from her mind, before the temptation could take hold to look for _Cloud_ instead of the clone. Like Nanaki had said, that would only lead the WRO straight to him. She’d misjudged before, but she wasn’t going to bring the WRO to Cloud if he didn’t want to be found.

Still, with all the thoughts and worries that had been bubbling inside over the past week, she couldn’t resist commenting, “You don’t seem worried about Cloud.”

Nanaki’s good eye swivelled to her, but he didn’t respond.

“I just wanted to know… is he okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but do you know that much?”

This time, she waited him out, and was rewarded with a gravelled sigh. “I don’t know anything for certain. But I have reason to believe he is safe.”

Tifa took a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out again. For now, that would be enough.

Odin only knew it was more than what she’d had in the past.

They fell back into a strained silence, only the scuffs of Nanaki’s paws and her shoes keeping them company. It made her wistful for the times when Yuffie would be chattering in the background, an endless stream of taunts and brags and tall tales of adventure. When Cid would clomp along swearing at the world in general, complaining about everything from Shera to bad weather to needing a cigarette. When Cait would break out into cheerful limericks or offer to tell people’s fortunes. And Barret would shout over the top of everyone about what they should do next and then just as loudly worry about Marlene.

There was nothing to be done about it, though. Those were days that couldn’t be reclaimed anymore, and she was starting to think it was foolish of her to wish for it.

“There aren’t many monsters in this area,” she observed after a while, mostly to break the quiet. “But there are a lot of tracks.”

“Perhaps the wrong time of day for it,” Nanaki suggested.

Tifa bit her lip. Hellhounds were typically nocturnal, but the guard hounds common in this region were more inclined to hunting during daylight hours – or at the very least they ought to have been protecting their territory from intruders. Nanaki’s presence was a natural deterrent, but it was odd they hadn’t seen any prowling nearby.

On Mount Nibel, that was always a bad sign. It meant snowstorms, or dragons.

What would it mean in Midgar’s ruins?

Before she could voice her concern, Nanaki’s ears perked up and he raised his nose to the wind in surprise. “I think I have something.” With a loping stride, he leapt up an embankment of rubble, disappearing swiftly over the other side.

“Hey, wait up!” Tifa called. She was a mountain girl, but she didn’t have the advantage of four legs and a low centre of gravity. She scrambled after him, debris scattering under her feet. “Idiot! Don’t run ahead!” Odin, had he forgotten the cardinal rule of wandering in a potentially hostile area? What was the point of bringing along backup if they didn’t stick together?! She was going to chew him out big time when she caught up.

A harsh yowl scraped at her ears. The hairs on her neck prickled with alarm – it was a sound she hadn’t heard for _years_ , since the days of AVALANCHE picking fights way over their heads. “Nanaki?! Are you okay?!”

The only answer was a thud amongst the wreckage. Tifa cursed, struggling up the unstable junk pile. “Nanaki!”

“He can’t hear you,” a smooth, strangely familiar voice answered.

Tifa spun, fists clenched, leg sweeping automatically through the air.

It was caught, and held. A kick that even when she was off-form could break bones, stopped as though it had no more force than that of a child’s. And all she could register was black feathers and silver hair and nightmares of fire-

She’d miscalculated. Horribly. Even the rest of AVALANCHE wouldn’t have been backup enough.

The word left her in a rush of breath, horror and disbelief and the dreadful realisation that they’d all been far, far too complacent.

“ _Sephiroth_?”

 

 


	23. Chapter 22

 

 

There were, naturally, many problems with Cloud’s fledgling plans.

It was understandable. Plans were never his strong point – he didn’t understand _people_ well enough to guess how they’d react. Throw him at a field of monsters, or tell him to blow up something, or ask him to breed chocobos, and he had no problem figuring out the most efficient way to do it. Throw people into the equation and he was clumsier than  _Barret_.

The Church waited, serene as always, nestled amidst the undulating sea of junk and scrap metal that made up this part of Midgar’s ruins. The midday sun burned overhead, driving most of the vermin infesting the city back to their nooks and crannies in search of shade. It was quiet, and there were no signs of activity in the vicinity.

The sight was comforting. The Chruch represented _safety._ Refuge. And the familiarity of the sight after nearly a month away felt an awful lot like coming home.

That was the only excuse Cloud could offer for his lapse of vigilance, as he made directly for the entrance instead of bothering to check the windows. He wasn’t on top of his game, not after the past twenty-four hours, and the Church was a _trusted_ place.

So when he caught sight of a pair of shadows stretching across the Church’s aisle, he wasn’t prepared _at all_.

“Get back!” Cloud yanked Genesis away from the door by the sleeve of his coat.

“What-?” Genesis hissed, before falling silent at the shuffle of footsteps.

“-You hear somethin’?”

Reno’s drawl was unmistakeable. Rude murmured a reply that his ears couldn’t quite catch. Reno scoffed and complained, “This is a damn boring waste of time, yo. We’ve got better things to be doing than this crap. Didn’t you hear about that shit that went down in Sector 2 yesterday?”

There was a pause, one far too long to make him comfortable, before Reno sighed. Something scraped at the ground, the sound of shoes scuffing against wood.

Cloud held his breath. Any movement, any sound, would surely give them away. Had one of the Turks noticed?

“You know those idiots are gonna mess all the evidence up, yo.” His voice wandered away, heading deeper into the church, the echoes half swallowing his words.

Safe, for now. Cloud gestured at Genesis, and during Reno’s next rambling complaint, they stealthily retreated to a vantage point just out of sight.

That had been entirely too close for comfort. It was mostly luck that neither Turk had been looking their way when they nearly entered the Church. Luck, and sloppiness on the Turks’ part. If they’d set up camp in one of the corners instead of standing in the sunlight, Cloud might not have noticed them until too late.

“Is the water under guard?” Genesis asked.

“It’s not the water they’re here for,” Cloud muttered.

It had been stupid of him to overlook it – the Turks and WRO weren’t high on his list of concerns, not with _Sephiroth_ on the loose. But of course they would stake out the Church. It was a well-known refuge.

Cloud took a deep breath and thought for several moments. Regardless of the new tension thrumming between him and Genesis, they needed to work together on this one.

“We have to get them out of there. It’s me they’re looking for. I’ll draw them off, and you can slip in and get the water.”

Strangely enough, his companion didn’t appear too happy about that plan. “You’re going to play bait? Those people tried to _kill_ you, Cloud Strife.”

“Isn’t Weiss more important?” Cloud snapped.

Genesis looked taken aback for all of three seconds. His usual aloof demeanour reasserted itself, and he remarked, “Forgive me for _watching your back_ , then.”

Cloud rubbed his forehead and said, “It’s fine. Really. It’s two Turks. I can handle them.”

“Two Turks that are apparently _expecting_ you.”

A good point. No doubt they’d brought along the big guns – he could expect explosives at the very least, and Cloud wouldn’t put it past Rude to be packing a rocket launcher.

Worst of all, they would have _phones_.

“We’ll have to be quick. Before they can call in more backup.”

“You really are determined,” Genesis huffed. “Couldn’t we simply _outwait_ them? Surely they won’t be able to camp there forever.”

Cloud stared at him, somewhat incredulous that _Genesis_ was advocating waiting. “We can’t afford the time. We don’t know how long we have until Sephiroth shows up again. We have to be ready.”

“I could play bait instead.”

Was Genesis being difficult on _purpose_? “They still don’t know you’re alive. Let’s not blow that advantage.” It would invalidate all of his efforts at keeping the former SOLDIER’s existence a secret so far – a secret kept _at said SOLDIER’s insistence_.

“I suppose, tactically, your plan makes sense,” Genesis finally begrudged. “The rendezvous point?”

Back at the theatre would be too risky. “Under the billboard in Sector 6.”

“Very well then.” For a fleeting moment, Genesis’s gloves brushed his arm, as quick and light as a needlebird. Then the SOLDIER was stealthily making his way across the wreckage, towards the rear of the church. As stealthily as he could lugging a pair of wooden buckets, anyway.

Cloud watched him go. The urge struck to call him back, to clear the tense air that had settled between them with Weiss’s revelation.

The words stayed trapped in his throat. Cloud turned away, and started walking towards the Church.

There would be time to sort out their issues later.

He counted out three minutes in his head, giving Genesis time to circle around and get into position. Took a couple of deep breaths. Checked his weapon and materia.

No point putting it off.

This time, he approached more cautiously. He slowed his steps and lingered just outside of the entrance, Reno’s monologue carried by the Church’s echo.

"Reeve totally fucked it up, yo. It was stupid to leave it to the WRO. I _told_ the boss-man it wasn't gonna work."

Rude made a perfectly neutral sound in his throat.

"I mean, what the hell? They didn't even send anyone to stop the damn dog from running off to tattle?"

Rude sighed. Cloud was familiar with the sound. It was the same one he made whenever his partner had been chewing on the same topic for too long.

“And those WRO losers! What the hell were they gonna do, yo? Did nobody remember fucking Zack Fair taking on a _whole damn platoon_? Idiots might as well go throw themselves over a cliff. Can’t do anything right.”

Cloud refused to sit there and listen to Reno mouth off – especially if he were going to start bringing Zack into it. Time to do this.

He slammed the church doors open. They crashed against the walls with an echoing  _bang_.

For all their slacking off, both Turks were battle-ready in a heartbeat. Reno’s electro-rod crackled with electricity, mimicking the sound of Rude’s knuckles.

Cloud paused for just one moment, long enough for them to get their bearings. Made a show of glancing at each of them, and then just as quickly slipped back outside.

“Fucker! Come back here!”

The Turks took the bait.

Cloud ran from the Church. Not too fast – he didn’t want to lose them.

His ears caught a faint beep mid-step. He barely had time to register it before the ground in front of him _exploded_ , chunks of earth and plumes of fire bursting around him. A dull whine rang in his ears.

Planted explosives. They weren’t pulling their punches.

Cloud swung First Tsurugi, throwing extra power into the motion. Energy sliced off the blade, clearing the way, an invisible shield of concussive force.

He emerged from the smoke, coughed once, then rolled to the side, the roar of a rocket burning his ears. It crashed and blew up a pile of rubble instead, showering him with shrapnel and chunks of concrete. He raised an arm to protect his face and leapt clear. His feet hit the ground wrong, he stumbled, and brought up his sword just as Reno caught up with him.

The electro-rod snapped against the flat of his blade. It clicked, and then suddenly extended, jolting towards his face. Cloud twisted away, hopping back – just close enough to make Reno think he’d only _barely_ missed.

“I didn’t think you’d be _stupid_ enough to show your face here.” Reno’s expression was contorted somewhere between a snarl and a manic grin. “Did you honestly think we were just going to _give up_ after only a couple of days?”

Cloud sidestepped a wild swing of the electro-rod, and struck once in retaliation. Reno surprised him by bracing against it, catching First Tsurugi with both hands and a pained grunt.

“You’re outmatched,” Cloud said, pressing his weight down a little more – just enough to make the point. When it came to raw strength, it wasn’t even a contest.

Even as Reno’s arms trembled from the strain though, his smirk didn’t waver. “That’s what you think, bub.” He pressed a button on the weapon’s grip.

The electro-rod lit up with a screech and a shower of sparks. Lightning lashed along his sword and arms, blinding and burning. _Thunder materia_. Close to mastered.

He forced back the instinct to retreat, instead pushing forward against the spell to shove Reno away. The Turk tumbled into a roll. There was a rush of air behind him, and Cloud ducked and turned just in time to catch a steel-knuckled punch from Rude. He let his momentum carry him, throwing the bigger Turk forward after his partner. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and swear words.

Cloud shook his arms, chasing away the lingering burn and tingle from the lightning. Clever to bolster the electro-rod’s power with materia. It meant it didn’t even have to connect to shock.

Still not enough though. Nothing close to a sword through his gut, or a bullet through his chest.

"You're a real freak, aren't you Cloud?" Reno sneered as they leapt back to their feet. Going straight for the jugular, like he always did. "Take a Thundara to the face and you don’t even blink. Someone cuts the fucking brakes on your bike and you walk back with _scratches_."

Cloud paused, realisation settled over him like a blanket of freezing snow. "That was  _you_?"

“Damn _right_ that was me!”

He hadn’t bothered wondering who might have cut Fenrir’s brakes – the list of potential suspects was too long. But somehow, deep inside, he hadn’t expected it to be someone he _knew_.

It left him chilled and strangely hollow. He held no love for the Turks, no matter what uneasy truces they’d made in the past. But this was someone who wandered into the bar at least once a week. Someone who’d fought alongside him during Kadaj’s attack.

He knew they’d been wary, and that things hadn’t looked good on his end. But there was a big difference between the Turks _thinking_ the worst of him and them _actively trying to kill him_.

The sudden pause from Rude suggested Cloud wasn’t the only one surprised by that revelation. “Reno.”

"Sorry Rude, but we owe her better than that. I wasn't gonna just sit backand _play nice_ like everyone else seemed so happy to. The guy's fucking dangerous!" Reno punctuated his words with another sweep of his arm and storm of lightning. This time, Cloud caught the lashing energy on his blade, driving it harmlessly into the earth. Thunder materia was easy to counter if you were expecting it.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Cloud said. “You just leapt to conclusions.”

“You keep saying that, but don’t think I’m gonna fall for that shit,” Reno growled. “We found the damn feathers, yo. Where’s your wing, Cloud?”

Feathers? _Wing_?

_Odin_. In Edge. Genesis had flown them out of there.

It was even worse than he thought.

“That wasn’t me. You didn’t even think it might be the clo-” He cut himself off to dodge another swipe of the electro-rod.

“Save it for someone who gives a shit!”

Reno wasn't rational right now. It was obvious. His fighting was downright sloppy, fuelled by rage and resentment. Cloud would be wasting his time trying to talk to them.

Over their shoulders, he caught a glimpse of a distant red figure slipping into the Church. It was going to plan, then – he just had to keep the Turks busy a little longer, and then clear out before the inevitable backup arrived.

Reno and Rude rushed him in tandem. Cloud forced Reno back with a swipe of his sword, and his foot landed square in Rude’s gut. They stumbled back, struggling to keep their feet. They were so slow it wasn’t even an effort.

"The Turks have really fallen far," Cloud commented.

"Shut the hell up!" Reno snarled, and swung his electro-rod like a club.

He'd said it to goad them, to keep their attention forward, but he meant it. Reno was a disaster and Rude was too distracted covering for him to be effective on his own merits – _Yuffie_ _alone_ could have taken them on in this state. The Turks of two years ago had kept cool heads, even when Rufus had been on his deathbed and Tseng and Elena presumed the same.

Maybe it was their increasing irrelevance. Maybe it was guilt finally catching up to them, from Sector 7 and ShinRa's failures and Kadaj and even DeepGround.

Maybe this was simply the straw that had broken the chocobo's back.

The electro-rod clattered against First Tsurugi, hissing and sputtering sparks. Cloud spun the blade, very nearly knocking it out of Reno’s hands. As he staggered back, Rude pulled the pin on a grenade and lobbed it at him, but Cloud was faster, batting it clear with the flat of his sword. It burst over their heads with a blast of fire and a deafening bang.

Reno wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek. Cloud hadn’t hit his face, so he must have bit his tongue at some point. “You SOLDIER freaks all turn out the same, every fucking time,” he spat. “You’re nothing but a time bomb.”

“Funny,” Cloud retorted. “I could say the same about ShinRa.” He backed away, checking his escape routes. Genesis would have the water by now, surely. If he made a break for it, they’d be too busy chasing _him_ to notice anyone leaving the Church. And in Midgar’s terrain, he could lose them any time he wanted.

Reno noticed, of course. “Don’t you even fucking _think_ about running away, you coward!” He lunged at him, the whine of the electro-rod powering up piercing to his ears. Cloud half-raised First Tsurugi, preparing to catch the lightning on his blade-

Then, without any warning, the Church exploded into a searing ball of fire.

 

 


	24. Chapter 23

The crash resounded across the ruins – an explosion of shattering wood and tiles that shivered straight through his chest.

His gaze whipped around, focusing on the riding cloud of dust and smoke and fire billowing from the Church. “Genesis!”

He took a reflexive step forward, but Reno was still there, electro-rod swinging and not even missing a beat in the face of the blast. “The fuck did you just do?!” he snarled.

Cloud didn’t have time for this. He batted aside the electro-rod, moving to sidestep Reno, but then Rude was running in to tackle him and _the Church was on fire_ -

A hard elbow to jaw knocked Rude flat on his back before he could connect. In the follow-through Reno managed to snag his wrist. Without thinking, Cloud struck his arm. There was a crunch of bone, and the Turk swore on a pitch that could shatter glass.

It barely registered. Cloud had already left him behind, running for the Church.

His heart hammered at the sight and a dull roar filled his ears. The entire rear of the building had collapsed into rubble.

No sign of Genesis.

What went wrong? Had they miscalculated? Had the Turks left another trap _inside_ the Church? But even they wouldn’t dare mess with the spring-

Then that all-too-familiar sensation of static slithered up his spine, and Cloud _knew_.

“ _Sephiroth_.”

The low chuckle that followed ran across his skin in a prickle of amusement, the bond echoing the sound. “ _Cloud_.” His archenemy descended from the sky, black wing spread wide, landing as light as a feather. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Held in his grasp was the last person he expected to see.

“Cloud!”

His throat grew tight, and it became suddenly difficult to breathe. “ _Tifa_?!”

Seeing Tifa again was like a punch to the gut. A messy tangle of emotions tumbled through him, hurt, resentment, _betrayal_ , laid fresh like the wound was mere minutes old. But beneath that, the echoes of family, familiarity… and most importantly, _fear_.

Sephiroth’s arm was wrapped around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides and evidently squeezing hard enough that her breath came in shallow gasps. Bruises stood out stark against her skin. A trail of blood ran to her jaw from a cut on her forehead.

Tifa had fought. Tifa had _lost_.

And now Tifa was in very real danger.

“Look what I found, Cloud,” Sephiroth drawled, jostling his captive briefly as though to show her off. Her feet didn’t even reach the ground.

“Let. Her. _Go_ ,” Cloud ground out through his teeth. Inside, he was calculating, wondering if he could move fast enough, how bad Tifa’s injuries were, if she could break away herself if he just gave her a window-

As though reading his thoughts, Sephiroth raised Masamune, letting its edge drift across her throat. Tifa remained still, eyes tracking the blade for a moment before flicking back towards Sephiroth’s face, their dark brown depths filled with _hate_.

“Don’t move,” Cloud said immediately, the words more for _Tifa_ than Sephiroth because in that instant it was too easy to see her trying to fight anyway, and paying the ultimate price. Memories of Nibelheim flashed behind his eyes, of his childhood friend drenched in blood, limp on the cold grey Reactor floor.

“I believe that’s supposed to be my line, Cloud,” remarked Sephiroth.

His glare snapped to his opponent, fingers curling and uncurling around First Tsurugi’s hilt. “What are you trying to do?”

Sephiroth only smiled at him, the expression slow and cruel and taunting. Cloud itched to wipe it off his face, but he didn’t dare attack. Not when the slightest slip of Masamune could end Tifa’s life.

For one long breath, none of them moved, hung in a stalemate – Sephiroth taunting, and neither Cloud nor Tifa in any position to act on it.

Until it was broken by the shift of rubble and hacking coughs behind them. It took all of Cloud’s self-control to hold his position as he glanced out the corner of his eyes, desperately searching for their owner.

Genesis obliged, throwing a cracked wooden beam from his shoulders like it was made of foam as he rose from the wreckage. He was covered in soot and dust, his jacket ragged and torn, but unquestionably _alive_. “ _Sephiroth_.”

“Genesis. You survived.” Sephiroth sounded faintly amused. “Surprising.”

“Of _course_ I survived. You think a bit of fire and some _lumber_ is enough to defeat a _SOLDIER First Class_?” he snarled.

Genesis had a point – and Cloud suddenly felt foolish for worrying. The explosion had been bad, but not enough to _kill_ a SOLDIER. So why-

_The water_.

A horrible chill ran through him, as cold and desolate as Shiva’s embrace.

The Church was in ruins. The spring buried under dirt and rubble.

They’d lost the water. Their only hope of saving Weiss.

Sephiroth had known. Had probably been _waiting_ for them. Two steps ahead, as always.

“Who are you?” Tifa demanded, oblivious to her comrade’s quiet horror and apparently not even remotely intimidated by Masamune at her throat.

Cloud stiffened in anxious anticipation, but her captor didn’t seem to mind. “He’s a failure,” Sephiroth answered. “A particularly stubborn one.”

“Fine words from a man who refuses to stay in the Lifestream where he _belongs_.” Genesis flicked his wrist, igniting a fireball that danced above his palm. His rapier was nowhere to be seen – likely still buried in the wreckage. A disadvantage.

Sephiroth merely smirked in response. “That would be unwise, Genesis. Or don’t you care about the girl?”

Cloud could see the retort forming, and cut in, “It’s Tifa.”

The fireball in Genesis’s hand flickered briefly, the only outward sign of any surprise. “Taking hostages now? I am unsurprised to find you are a monster even in _death_ , Sephiroth,” he snapped.

“And you would know all about monsters, wouldn’t you?” Sephiroth drawled.

Genesis bared his teeth. “It takes one to know one, after all.”

There were questions burning in Tifa’s eyes, but Cloud kept his attention carefully on his enemy. “Sephiroth. Why are you doing this?” The attack on the Church made sense, but it wasn’t like him to take hostages. Even if he’d intended on murdering Tifa in front of an audience, he wouldn’t have wasted so much time doing it. He had a flair for _cruelty_ , not for dramatics.

Sephiroth regarded him through half-lidded eyes. “You mean you haven’t guessed yet? I suppose that is expecting too much of a puppet.”

His muscles twitched, but he fought the reflex down. Rising to Sephiroth’s bait never accomplished anything.

Seeing that he wouldn’t receive a response, he continued, “I’m feeling generous, Cloud. I’ve decided to offer you a trade.”

“Don’t-” Tifa started to say, but choked on her words as Sephiroth tightened his grip.

Everything began to gain a filter of unreality, as though he were merely an observer, trapped in a waking dream. His mouth had turned dry and his lips numb as he mechanically asked, “What are you talking about?”

“An exchange.” He tilted his head towards him, the gesture slight but painfully clear. “You… for the girl.”

“Cloud! You can’t- I won’t forgive you if-” Tifa called again, fighting against Sephiroth’s unyielding grasp, muttering curses under her breath.

His eyes were fixated on Masamune – hovering a hair’s breadth from her neck, a thin line of crimson already visible from where her struggles had brushed it. “What guarantee do I have that you won’t just turn around and kill her anyway?” Cloud asked slowly.

“Don’t even think about it!” Genesis snapped. “That woman _betrayed_ you, Cloud.”

Tifa flinched and fell silent.

Cloud shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut before snapping them open again, chastising himself for even that tiny slip of attention. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to have to make that choice. _Couldn’t_ make that choice.

No matter whatever resentments and frustrations he still held, he could never. He could never just stand there and watch Sephiroth do to Tifa what he’d done to Aeris.

But he didn’t trust Sephiroth not to kill her _anyway¸_ as soon as Cloud lowered his sword.

Didn’t trust he would _stop_ at him and Tifa, either.

“Put down your sword, Cloud,” Sephiroth ordered. A jolt of electricity shot through the back of his head, as though compelling him to obey.

He locked his knees and tightened his grip, thoughts racing, looking for a way out, _anything_.

“Cloud,” Tifa murmured – her voice low and urgent, coaxing him out of his head. “Do you have it with you? Yuffie’s stash.”

What was she getting at? He’d brought along his favourite materia – Restore, Water, a smattering of the basics, and Neo Bahamut which still sat spent and silent. None of which would be any good – even _if_ they were at all effective against Sephiroth, in the time it would take to cast Tifa would be…

_Restore._

His breath caught jagged in his throat. She couldn’t be suggesting…

Her gaze was level. Steady. “It’ll work. You’re stronger than you were back then.”

Back when none of them had been good enough with a Restore materia. When none of them had been strong enough or fast enough to heal such a severe wound before Aeris slipped beyond the reach of their last precious tuft of phoenix down.

Sephiroth frowned, and tightened his grip even further. Tifa gasped, lips twisting into a grimace, but her dark brown eyes didn’t leave Cloud’s face. Waiting. _Trusting_.

“What are you waiting for, Cloud?” Sephiroth drawled, his tone taking a turn for the dangerous. He tilted his head, slowly. Considering. “Perhaps the girl is no longer enough?” His gaze slid to Genesis. “Maybe you think you’re fast enough to save one. But can you save both?”

Cloud froze.

Genesis scoffed. “Your arrogance has not faded at all. I welcome you to _try_.”

“Do you think you can truly evade me without a sword?” Sephiroth taunted.

Genesis twisted his wrist, and the fireball in it flared. The burst of heat washed over them in a stifling breeze. “I grow tired of repeating myself, _old friend_. I am a _SOLDIER First Class.”_

That only earned another smirk from Sephiroth as he refocused his attention forward. “I’m growing impatient, Cloud.”

His gaze skipped between Tifa and Genesis, frantically calculating. It was risky enough just with Tifa. Genesis was injured and didn’t have his sword. But even then, in this form, Sephiroth wasn’t as fast as he used to be. Genesis could surely avoid at least the first couple of attacks levelled at him, especially at that range.

He had no choice. He needed to trust Genesis could last long enough on his own. There were no other options.

“You still don’t get it,” Cloud said, “I hold _everything_ precious.”

He leapt forward, First Tsurugi in one hand, the other desperately reaching for his materia. Masamune jerked, and Tifa pushed back with all of her strength, even as the steel bit into her throat, spilling crimson down her neck.

Sephiroth let go and whirled away, barely evading First Tsurugi. Tifa dropped, falling in slow motion, eyes wide and blood staining her lips. Cloud caught her before she could hit the ground, her body a sagging deadweight in his arms, head lolling for one dangerous second, exposing that awful, gaping wound, before he dropped his sword to cradle it.

The materia hummed to life, agonisingly slow as each heartbeat pumped more blood from her body. A second passed, and then another, and Tifa’s eyes turned glassy and unfocused. He poured more energy into the spell, everything he could spare without overloading it, transfixed on the jagged, horrific slash across her neck, fighting to ignore the rivers of red soaking into her shirt and running over his gloves. Staccato explosions burst in the background.

“Hold on.” His voice came out strained. The healing light grew warm, and the Restore materia  _finally_ flared. Tifa choked as the wound halfway closed, colour flooding back to her face for a precious few seconds as she struggled to draw breath through a serrated wind pipe.

Again. “Don’t die!” Cloud croaked, fumbling with the materia for a better grip, nearly dropping it, his gloves were so slippery with blood. _Tifa’s_ blood. It was a nightmare made real, but he wouldn’t let it be permanent, he _wouldn’t_ , this _had to work_ -

The materia flared again. This time, Tifa wheezed, and coughed. It was wet, and hoarse, but the blood flow slowed to a trickle, and she was alive. She was _breathing_.

He let out a shaky breath of his own, and started warming up the materia for a third cast. He turned his head, tracking Sephiroth, as another blast of heat and roar of fire washed over them.

His spell faltered, though, as he saw Genesis standing tall, leather coat flapping from the shockwaves. Holding his ground even as Sephiroth attacked, a barrage of flames raining in a protective ring around him.

Enough to buy him time. But each circle was tighter, and closer, and then Sephiroth was  _through_ the flames, Masamune brandished and driving straight for him.

_Why wasn’t he moving_?

“Genesis!” The warning tore from his lips, too late to do any good.

Masamune pierced his shoulder, tearing through leather and flesh. Genesis staggered back a single step, face twisted in a snarl. He raised his hand, magic growing within it, and fired point-blank at Sephiroth’s chest.

The resulting explosion thundered across the ruins, tossing dust and debris into the air. Cloud threw himself over Tifa, grit peppering his back.

As soon as it died down, he twisted around again. “Genesis!” he coughed. He was a _SOLDIER First Class,_ he _couldn’t_ go down that easy, why hadn’t he _dodged_ -

“What a pity,” Sephiroth remarked from behind him. “That we had to do this the hard way.”

Cloud whirled, dropping Tifa. Letting her fall, still rasping, still injured, to the ground. _How had Sephiroth-_

He dove for his sword, but Sephiroth was too close. A single gloved hand wrapped around his throat. Cloud choked. It tightened, crushing his windpipe, and then he was being lifted off the ground, feet kicking uselessly in the air. He struggled to focus on the Restore – if he could get Tifa on her feet again…

The materia was knocked from his fingers and rolled across the ground with a glassy ring. “There’s no one left to interfere now, Cloud,” Sephiroth drawled.

He grit his teeth, and slammed a fist against Sephiroth’s elbow. It didn’t budge. In terms of raw strength, his foe had always held the advantage – _that_ hadn’t changed with Weiss’s body. Without his sword, without that distance, Cloud would always be outclassed.

“Isn’t this familiar?” Sephiroth mocked. “Where is that strength now?”

Stupid. He’d been so worried about protecting Genesis and saving Tifa that Cloud had completely forgotten to worry about himself. He desperately reached through the static haze rising in his thoughts, scrambling for another materia, _anything,_ to get away.

“Go to sleep, Cloud,” Sephiroth murmured.

The command shot like lightning to the back of his brain. He struggled against it, clinging on with his fingernails, but the static rose in a roaring wave, whiting out all else.

His arms fell limp, and his head dropped. All he could hear was a raspy voice calling his name, until that too faded into silence.

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 24

 

 

Tifa gagged. Her throat felt like it was lined with broken glass, and her vision still smeared and darkened around the edges. She tried to force past it, to _move_ , but her body responded with frustrating sluggishness as that black blur rose into the sky.

“Cloud,” she tried, but the word was a weak, rasping, hopeless little thing. “Cloud!”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It had been a calculated gamble, a desperate move in a desperate situation. AVALANCHE’s speciality.

But she hadn’t expected anyone _other_ than her to pay the price.

Why couldn’t she _move_?! She made a frustrated sound in her throat, but it burned like acid, and exhaustion dragged at her limbs, accompanied by another wave of dizziness. Blood loss, some distant part of her noted. Healed, _alive,_ but with all the hallmarks of a rushed and incomplete job.

A red blur stumbled towards her. The stranger, she dimly remembered. The man both Cloud and Sephiroth seemed to know, who’d cradled fire in his hands as though it were a plaything.

He dropped to knees nearby, scrabbled in the dirt for a moment. Held aloft something green and glowing.

Then warmth and magic flowed across her, sinking into her skin like morning sunlight. The dark edges receded from her vision, and when she drew breath, it was dry and full and _easy_.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and took her first proper look at the man… Genesis, wasn’t it? There was something distantly familiar about the name, like that of a famous politician or actor.

His entire left side was drenched in blood.

“You’re hurt!” she blurted. “Quick, the materia-” She reached out to take it.

He scoffed and slipped the materia up his sleeve. “Don’t think so highly of yourself. I took care of that _first_. But Cloud would hardly forgive me if I were to leave you on the ground gasping like a dying fish.” His tone of voice conveyed perfectly how ridiculous he found that sentiment, and suggested that he would not have been _at all_ sorry to have left her there.

She bristled – to think she’d been _worried_ about this jerk for even half an instant – but pushed it aside and demanded, “Cloud?” Because that was most urgent and everything else could wait.

Genesis made a noise of frustration, standing again in a snap of leather. “Sephiroth took him.” He glared. “Because you were fool enough to get yourself _captured_ and held hostage.”

A furious retort burned on Tifa’s lips. Before she could give it voice, though, the erratic thump of staggering footsteps heralded the late arrival of the Turks.

“Was that fucking _Sephiroth_?” Reno rasped. He was cradling his arm against his chest, electro-rod held awkwardly in the crook of his elbow. Rude stumbled along behind him, missing his sunglasses and massaging his jaw.

“He took Cloud,” Tifa repeated numbly, still trying to process it herself. “Why would he take Cloud?” She’d been sure it had all been to kill him. Revenge. Making sure Cloud couldn’t fight back. Why would he need to take him _away_ for that?

“It hardly matters _why_. The only thing that matters is getting him _back_ ,” Genesis snapped, striding back to the rubble of the Church

Tifa carefully pushed herself to herself the rest of the way to her feet, running a cautious hand across her throat. It felt a little raw, the skin sensitive and fragile, but there were no other signs of the wound beyond the blood painting her shirt.

“And who the hell are you?” Reno demanded, squinting suspiciously. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

Genesis eyed him haughtily and didn’t respond, kicking aside a shattered wooden beam and digging through the debris. Tifa wandered to the edge of the rubble and knelt down, picking up and cradling the half-crushed remains of a flower. Its edges were singed and torn. Beyond saving.

“I’d like to know too,” she said. “Sephiroth called you Genesis, right?”

Again, he didn’t reply. He’d found something in the wreckage – with a tug and a rasp of metal, he pulled a crimson rapier free, and proceeded to inspect it critically for damage. His face twisted with distaste, but he hung the blade on his hip and turned his attention back towards the centre of the destruction.

The name apparently meant something to the Turks, though, as they both immediately shifted into battle stances. “Fucking Genesis _Rhapsodos_?” Reno spat.

“So the Turks _do_ remember me,” he sneered. “I had begun to wonder.”

“I remember you alright,” the Turk snarled, twirling his electro-rod in his left hand – the right still held awkwardly against his chest. Next to him, Rude straightened, cracking his knuckles ominously. “Except last time I saw you, you had white hair. Oh, and you’re supposed to be  _dead_.”

Genesis scoffed. “Many times over, no doubt. ShinRa seems to think that wishing for something often enough will make it true.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time we _do_ something about that,” remarked Reno darkly.

Genesis finally paused, shifting his body slightly as though to move in front of something, presenting his dominant side to the Turks, rapier within reach of an easy draw. “If you are so eager to lose, by all means, try your luck.”

“Wait,” Tifa interjected. “Reno, what are you talking about?”

“This bastard’s a terrorist.” He jabbed his electro-rod like a pointer. “How many people died at the hands of your damn copies, yo?”

“How many people have died at the hands of ShinRa?” Genesis’s response was as icy as the steeps of Modeoheim. “I am not proud of my actions in that period, but if we are going to compare crimes, _Turk_ , then it is going to end poorly for you.”

Reno didn’t have an answer for that. Tifa took the opportunity to step in. “How do you know Sephiroth then?” Everybody knew _of_ Sephiroth, but the man had been dead for years.

He spared her a contemptuous glance, and replied, “I _did_ say, repeatedly I might add, that I am a SOLDIER First Class. Naturally we crossed paths.”

Reno found his voice again. “Don’t give us that roundabout shit. You were _friends_ until you pulled your little desertion stunt. Everybody knew that. The damn famous trio of SOLDIERs. There were fucking _newsletters_ , yo.”

_Friends_? With _Sephiroth_?

“I would hardly call us _friends_ ,” Genesis replied acidly. “And it is immaterial now anyway.”

“I don’t think so. Seems a bit too suspicious, if you ask me – not like Sephiroth can just come back by _himself_ , can he? And from I saw, it didn’t seem like you were fighting him too hard to me. Holding back, weren’t you?” Reno’s words were like black oil curling across the ocean, insidious and dangerously compelling.

“It says something for the Turks’ _stupidity_ that even after all this time, they would seek to blame  _me_ rather than their precious fallen hero,” Genesis sniped. He flexed his hand, as though he dearly wished to attack, but kept his position, not even shifting as Reno and Rude both moved forward, closing the gap.

Something about his stance struck Tifa as odd. She frowned, examining his feet more carefully, searching for tells. He was standing over… was that a bucket?

“How do we know you aren’t in cahoots?” Reno accused. Rude nodded his agreement. “Sephiroth shows up, you show up, and Red XIII’s back there half-dead, what the hell are we supposed to think, yo?”

“Wait, what? You mean you found Nanaki?” Tifa blurted. “He’s okay?” She’d been thinking the worst after coming face to face with Sephiroth.

“I wouldn’t say _okay_ , yo.” Reno scowled. “And it’s more like he found _us_. Stumbled up and passed out just after the Church blew. We called in a med evac before-”

He cut himself off when Genesis suddenly pushed past them, jumping back into a defensive block. The SOLDIER ignored them though, hurrying back the way the Turks came.

“Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?!” Reno demanded, scrambling after him.

Tifa was faster. “Hey, wait!” He couldn’t just _leave_! He was the only clue they had to making sense of this whole mess!

She jerked to a halt half a dozen steps away, though, when Genesis abruptly dropped to his knees, back to them and bucket carefully placed to the side. What was he-?

“ _Nanaki_ ,” she breathed, and it looked even worse than she’d feared. He lay prone on the ground, sides labouring with every breath. Along his entire flank stretched an ugly gash, the fur surrounding it matted with blood. “Get away from him!”

Genesis ignored her, though, hands fluttering over Nanaki’s prone form briefly in a fuss, before the light of a green materia shone once more and the wound shrunk. It was easily over an hour old, almost certain to scar, but with another stubborn cast, the SOLDIER pushed it back to nothing more than a long, shallow scratch.

Nanaki’s good eye fluttered, and then he was lifting his head and rolling onto his stomach. “…Genesis?”

“Honestly,” he grumbled. “Do none of you have the good sense to move out of the way of a sword?”

In response, Nanaki sent a questioning glance at the blood staining Genesis’s coat. He frowned and waved it off. “That’s an entirely different matter. The consequences for evading were far worse.”

Restore. It had been a _Restore_. Tifa could have collapsed from the relief.

The Turks were close behind, though. “Oi, Red, you okay?” Reno called, eyeing Genesis cautiously while palming his electro-rod.

Nanaki turned to face them, flaming tail flicking once in what Tifa recognised as silent annoyance. “I am now.”

“Right,” Reno said. “Good to know. Now mind explaining how the hell _you_ know fucking Genesis Rhapsodos too?”

Nanaki glanced first at Genesis, then her, then the Turks, and seemed to come to a decision. “He is an ally. He’s been working with Cloud for months now. Vincent will vouch for him as well.”

Tifa’s mouth worked, but no words escaped. _Months_?

Reno picked up the slack for her. “The _hell_?”

“He wished to keep his existence a secret from ShinRa,” Nanaki explained patiently. “Cloud agreed.”

“He told you, though,” Tifa said, and hated herself for how small her voice sounded. Dear Odin, had Cloud trusted her _that_ little? And she’d known that Nanaki had been keeping secrets, but Vincent _too_? Was she the only one not in the know?

Nanaki turned an apologetic gaze on her. “Only because I tracked them down on my own. It was much the same with Vincent. And given what happened later…”

He didn’t need to explain beyond that. How they’d all doubted Cloud – even her, however briefly. How much more suspicious would they have been of someone like Genesis? Even now, mere minutes after he’d begrudgingly healed her, Tifa had been dubious of him.

She felt like a fool now, of course. He’d not hesitated _at all_ to save Nanaki. But when she heard he’d been a SOLDIER, and a friend of Sephiroth’s on top of that…

A chill ran through her like a breath of Diamond Dust.

That line of thinking suddenly felt uncomfortably familiar. How the people of Edge had come to fear glowing eyes. How even friends and allies had started to doubt, had been so quick to assume the worst…

Monsters like Sephiroth didn’t come out of nowhere. They were created, once great heroes driven mad by circumstance.

How close had they come to doing the same to Cloud? How many of their fears and doubts became self-fulfilling prophecies?

Who were the _real_ monsters in that scenario?

The Turks weren’t quite as convinced. “If he’s been hiding, as far as I’m concerned, that makes it even more suspicious. How do we know _he_ isn’t the one who killed Elena or those civilians, huh _?_ ” demanded Reno.

“Cloud can provide me an alibi for the night on which the civilians were killed,” Genesis replied impatiently, and that sent Tifa’s mind scattering back to that evening when Cloud had claimed he’d been stuck on the road. “Your precious Elena, I can only assume, was unfortunate enough to stumble upon Sephiroth when he was still gathering his strength.”

Reno started to say something else, but Genesis turned away and busied himself by running his fingers lightly across Nanaki’s flank, giving one more critical inspection of the injury. “Are you hurt elsewhere? This injury is too old for me to do much more for it.”

Nanaki ducked his head, beads jangling from the movement. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own. Save your strength.” He eyed the blood coating Tifa’s shirt and Genesis’s coat. “You’ve been casting a lot already.”

“A trifle for a SOLDIER First Class,” Genesis dismissed, but stood and shifted back again.

Tifa watched him retreat, and finally asked, “What’s with the bucket?”

In answer, Genesis snatched the bucket up, holding it close with one arm kept free for attack. Guarding it as though it were more precious than rare materia. “It is no concern of yours.”

She was right. He was protecting it. That was why he’d stood his ground – and had obviously been badly wounded for it. “What’s so special about it?” she pressed.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Nanaki lifted his nose, recognition bright in his eye. “It’s water from the Church’s spring. But what could you need it for?”

_That_ got the Turks’ attention again. Reno scowled. “So that’s why Cloud risked showing his mug here? Must be pretty damn important.”

Genesis huffed. “If you _must_ know, Cloud theorised that it would drive Sephiroth out.”

“Out?” Tifa interrupted. “Out of _what_?”

“The host,” Nanaki realised. “You mean to free the clone.”

“Not a clone, specifically,” Genesis evaded. “But in a word, yes.”

“Wait – is this the same fucker you’re claiming killed Elena?” Reno growled. “And you’re saying you want to _save_ him?”

“But if it wasn’t really him, if it was only because of Sephiroth’s influence…” Tifa murmured.

“Who cares?! Even if you kick Sephiroth out, what the hell is stopping him coming back? Bastards are better off _dead_!”

Genesis’s glare was as sharp as knives. “I hardly need to explain myself to the likes of _you_.” He spun on his heel, and picked his way out of the rubble, holding the bucket protectively close. From what Tifa could see, it was less than a third full.

“You think we’re just going to let you get _away_ with that?” Reno bristled. “No way. You’ve got _questions_ to answer, yo _._ ” Rude stepped up beside him, having procured a second pair of sunglasses from somewhere and looking all the more imposing for it.

It wasn’t as though they really had any _chance_ against Genesis – even _they_ had to know that, especially since it seemed like Reno only had one functioning arm. But Tifa stepped in anyway. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t you get it? That’s it. That’s the last of the water from the Church’s spring.”

Reno hesitated. “All the more reason to get it _back_ , yo! He’s just going to waste it trying to save the bastard who killed Elena! And you really think he’s on _our_ side?”

He stayed his hand, though, and Rude did too.

Genesis scoffed. “Enough. I have wasted too much precious time here already.”

“And where are you going?” Tifa demanded, whirling around. “What about _Cloud_?”

“Where do you _think_ I’m going?” he retorted. “Foolish girl.”

“What are you talking about?” Nanaki interjected, suddenly alarmed. “Where _is_ Cloud?”

Tifa bit her lip in quiet frustration. “Sephiroth took him.” Because he’d let his guard down, trying to save _her_.

“Not for long,” Genesis muttered grimly.

But… “You don’t even know where he could be!”

He smiled then – a sharp, feral expression that spoke of grim amusement and dark memories. “It is _Sephiroth_ , and he thinks he’s _won_. To anyone who knows him at all, he is terribly predictable.”

Then a single black wing unfurled from his back, a dark shadow that made her breath stutter and adrenaline spike.

“The damn _feathers_!” Reno muttered in the background.

Her brain had been frozen by the sight, and it took her far too long to make her voice work again. “Wait! Let us come with you!”

Nanaki was the one who answered, though. “No. If Cloud has truly been taken by Sephiroth, we’ll only slow him down.” He gave Genesis a measured look. “Even with all of AVALANCHE fighting, we were outclassed by Sephiroth. In the end, it always came down to Cloud.”

Genesis inclined his head in silent acknowledgement of the trust Nanaki was placing in him, wing fluttering slightly in the wind gusting across the ruins. He sent one last unreadable glance towards her, before striding a short distance from them, clear of the Church’s rubble. The Turks made no move to intercept, Rude pulling out his phone and Reno watching with a surly expression.

He remained for a long moment, wing outstretched, eyes closed and expression oddly meditative. His lips were moving, head bowed, as he murmured, as though in prayer.

In the sudden silence, Tifa caught snatches of words carried on the wind.

“ _The morrow is robbed of hope  
_ _Yet still, you are beloved  
_ _Rising to the heavens on broken wings  
_ _So let it be my fate_

_Even if the morrow should not forgive me_  
 _I shall carry no regrets_  
 _Legend shall speak of my sacrifice  
_ _Of the story past the World’s End.”_

Then with a gust of air, he took to the sky. Winging his way to the heart of Midgar.

 

……………………

 

Cloud came to with cold wind stroking his face, threading its dry fingers through his hair and whispering in his ears.

His awareness crept back slowly – first his hearing, picking up on the subtle shift of tumbling grit and the groans of a settling building. It all sounded wrong though, as though everything was too far away, distant and quiet.

Smell came next, the faint aroma of blood and steel and concrete, yet without the haze of dust and mako vapour so omnipresent in Midgar.

Then, crawling out of the hazy numbness, he felt the far too familiar pain of steel between his ribs.

He lurched back to full consciousness with a gasp, eyes snapping open and trying to take in his entire surroundings all at once.

Midgar spread out before him in all directions. For one moment he was wildly disoriented – the view felt oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it, couldn’t resolve the disconnect in altitude and angle.

Until he recognised the pattern of pillars around him, the crumbling edge of the building, and his mind flashed to battle after battle, waged against troopers, then SOLDIERs, then Sephiroth, then Tsviets.

_ShinRa Headquarters_.

He tried to shift forward, and stars burst behind his eyes. He let out a hiss between his teeth, but clung to awareness with sheer determination, fighting back the shadows creeping across his vision.

Masamune was buried to its hilt between his right ribs. Too carefully placed to be anything but accidental – lodged firmly between the bones, barely avoiding his lungs and aorta both. Agonising, but not fatal. At least, not to a SOLDIER.

Blood had pooled around his feet from the wound. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, trapped between his body and the steel pylon Masamune had him pinned to. Pulling against the bonds only made them bite deeper into his wrists, thin bright lines of cold pain that told him everything he needed to know. Wire. Forcing the issue would cut his tendons before he could break free.

“You’re finally awake.”

Cloud jerked at the voice, and was rewarded with another burst of agony from the movement. “ _Sephiroth_.”  
  
His archenemy sidled into view, the very picture of casual superiority. His chest was slightly reddened and the edges of his coat scorched, but he bore no other marks from taking Genesis’s spell point blank.  
  
Shiva – _Genesis_. Last he’d seen him, Sephiroth had run him through. What happened? Was he okay? And _Tifa_. He’d left her half-healed – out of the danger zone, but utterly defenceless.  
  
The question rested on the tip of his tongue, but he bit down on it. Sephiroth would never give him a straight answer. He had to believe that they were both okay. They were both survivors. He clung to that knowledge, used it to bury the panic and fear.  
  
"Isn't this familiar?" his archenemy drawled, drawing the words out as though to wrap him in them.  
  
“What’s your game?” Cloud growled. This setup didn’t make any sense at all. “Why haven’t you just killed me already?”  
  
“Kill you?” He stepped closer, drifting his fingers across Masamune’s hilt. Cloud braced for him to shift it, but his lips twitched in amusement and he left it be. “You misunderstand. I only want to _help_ you.”  
  
Cloud eyed him warily. This was a trap, there was no way this wasn’t a trap, some sort of new twisted mind game his enemy had concocted to torture him. “What are you talking about?"  
  
"You need me, Cloud," Sephiroth told him. "You can't make decisions without me."  
  
"I don't need you," he snarled. "And I definitely don't need you for _that_."  
  
"Oh?" Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. "So when I'm in the Lifestream, you don't run away, you don't avoid confrontation, you don't simply find yourself doing what others tell you to?"  
  
Cloud shivered, and tried not to show how terrifyingly close to the mark those words hit.  
  
He wasn't like that, not really. He could be decisive. AVALANCHE had made him their leader because of it, once upon a time. And that didn't have anything to do with Sephiroth, it _didn’t_.  
  
"You can't pretend, Cloud," Sephiroth purred. "I saw all of it from the Lifestream. After Meteor, falling into malaise, letting the girl make all of your decisions for you, running away. Until I rose again, and forced your hand." His mako-green eyes glittered with amused contempt. "And as soon as I was gone, you fell back into the same pattern. All that changed was that you found yourself torn between the girl and Genesis." He paused, and leaned in even closer. Long silver hair tickled Cloud's skin. "Nothing but a pathetic puppet."  
  
With a growl, Cloud jerked against his bonds. A fresh wave of blood flowed from his chest. It didn’t make a difference – Masamune held fast, and he didn’t have the strength or leverage to pull it free, not fast enough to _do_ anything.  
  
"Relax. There's no need to struggle any longer, Cloud." Sephiroth sounded mockingly tender. "Your true master has returned."  
  
“You’re not my master,” he hissed. “You never have been.”  
  
"I beg to differ. All along, you've been waiting for me. To give you purpose. To give you direction. To make all the hard choices for you."  
  
"I chose," he said, and didn’t even know which of them he was convincing. "I chose Genesis."  
  
Sephiroth’s expression didn’t shift, though he did lean back and move away, to look out over Midgar. “And how has that been working out for you?”  
  
Bitter, Cloud held his tongue and averted his eyes. After a long moment spent gathering himself, he replied, “Just because we disagreed on Weiss doesn’t mean it was a mistake.”  
  
“You’ve only set yourself up for disappointment, Cloud. Genesis Rhapsodos cares for no one but himself. Besides…” Sephiroth glanced back at him with a smirk. “Any relationship with  _you_ , was never anything more than a substitution for me."  
  
The tiny flame of doubt, flickering in his heart for weeks, rose to a roaring fire.  
  
Cloud remained stubbornly silent.  
  
“You don’t believe me?” There was no mistaking the amusement in his expression now. “We were friends, once. And Genesis always was rather… promiscuous.” He side-eyed him, gauging his reaction. Cloud stayed carefully neutral. “But more than that, we were rivals. He was obsessed. Would fight me at any opportunity.” Sephiroth tilted his head. “Sound familiar?”  
  
“You can say anything you want,” Cloud said. “That doesn’t mean it’s true.” Without proof, it might as well have all been lies. Sephiroth had lied to him plenty before, after all. Back when his memories were too scrambled to know what was real and what was fantasy.  
  
“No?” Sephiroth approached again, drawing forward with deliberate slowness. “But he was willing to put Weiss first, wasn’t he?”  
  
“ _Weiss_ ,” Cloud retorted. “Not _you_.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

The awful thing was, he _wasn’t_. Even though every part of him insisted on ignoring those poisonous words, he couldn’t just dismiss them. He’d nurtured those doubts himself, had harboured them even when he made his decision.

It didn’t matter. He could deal with it. If Genesis were okay, if Genesis _survived_ … nothing else mattered beyond that.

Static rose in his thoughts, a hazy background he’d come to recognise as his enemy plucking at his strings. He tried to push it away, but he was bleeding, and tired, and still reeling from Sephiroth’s taunts. It was like trying to hold back a river with nothing more than his fingers.

“Of course, there’s Zack, too, isn’t there?” Sephiroth continued. “The protégé of his old friend. I wonder how much you remind him of him. After all-” He paused, letting the words ripen in the air. “You are _so_ very alike.”

“That was a long time ago,” Cloud muttered. “It has _nothing_ to do with me and Genesis.”

Sephiroth merely regarded him through half-lidded eyes and repeated, “…Are you so sure of that?”

Cloud closed his eyes, and wished he could block his ears.

His archenemy was just playing with him. They were empty taunts. He repeated that to himself, trying in vain to drown out those insidious words.

“How heartbreaking,” Sephiroth murmured. “Nobody wants Cloud Strife. Not those weak sheep populating the Planet. Not your precious little friends. Not even another broken failure of a SOLDIER.”

Cloud clenched his jaw. Shifted his wrists a little, trying to distract himself with the prickling pain of the wire biting into his arms.

“But you don’t have to worry anymore,” Sephiroth whispered – voice suddenly so close that he fought the urge to recoil. “Now that I’ve returned, you won’t have to deal with it any longer.”

That was when, with a sickening lurch, Cloud finally realised what Sephiroth’s game was.

Genesis’s words echoed in his head, from so long ago.

_“You know, Cloud Strife… ShinRa might be hunting down rogue clones, but_ you _are the single greatest carrier of S-cells left around.”_

They’d made a horrible mistake. Death he could have faced. This was something far worse.

 

 


	26. Chapter 25

 

 

The wind whipped at his hair and tugged on his coat as Genesis sped across Midgar. His shoulder ached with every pull of his wing, and exhaustion dragged at his limbs, but he pushed forward, coaxing every bit of energy he could from his battered body.

By no stretch of the imagination was he in ideal condition for this fight. He was nowhere near as efficient with Restore materia as he was with Fire, and those high-level casts had drained him more than he wanted to admit. None of them had been perfect heals, but he’d not had the time or concentration available to do better.

It didn’t matter, though. There was no _time_. He would have to manage.

He clutched the bucket close as he banked on the breeze, wheeling towards Sector 0. Water sloshed around the bottom – it was less than a third full. The first bucket had been destroyed in the explosion. The second he had covered with his body, but in the resulting tumble had spilled most of its contents.

It was terrifying. There wasn’t enough water for second chances.

He had one shot, one dose of the water only.

“A _trifle_ , for a SOLDIER First Class,” he muttered to himself, and if his following laugh was more hysterical giggle than confident chuckle, then only the wind heard it.

ShinRa Headquarters loomed before him – decrepit, crumbling, but still towering far above the rest of Midgar. A dark, silent monument to commemorate the company’s many sins. A place he’d once called _home_.

Now the sight made his stomach churn in revulsion.

Genesis swooped low as he neared, his shadow speeding over the broken pavement of the road once leading to Loveless Avenue. Better to approach from below, and keep at least the  _chance_ of surprise.

When he reached the base, he banked hard, wing working and shoulder burning as he shot towards the sky. Air rushed past his ears, drowning out even the flutter of feathers and leather. Empty floors zipped by in a blur, windows blown out and broken furniture scattered in their depths.

He broke at the 60th in a silent gust of wind, letting the thermal buffet him just a little higher, warm plumes of air cradling him like invisible hands. Praying to the Goddess that his hunch had been correct.

And then he saw them.

Saw that old, familiar profile, with long silver hair, the back he’d faced in a hundred different memories. He spared it no attention, though. His eyes were riveted on the second figure, pinned with blade against a steel girder, blood pooling at his feet, blue eyes wide.

And something ugly, something Genesis thought long buried with his cure for degradation, rose in his chest.

His fist curled, leather creaking dangerously.

He’d _planned_ to take stock of the situation, of the layout. Perhaps fashion a distraction, even. Until that sight drove all rationality from his brain.  
  
His materia flared with scarcely a thought. “ _Sephiroth_!”  
  
He’d barely begun to turn before Genesis flung a roaring ball of fire at him.

Sephiroth leapt clear. The fireball curved, following, flames licking at the edges of his coat. It wouldn’t hit, but Genesis didn’t care. It bought him precious time.

He landed in front of Cloud, black wing flapping wildly for a moment as he struggled to compensate for his momentum. “Cloud!” A hiss escaped through his teeth when he saw the damage.

Cloud’s expression held shades of pain and relief both. “Tifa?” he rasped.

“She’s fine,” Genesis replied shortly. “Though I think your priorities are currently skewed!”

Cloud closed his eyes for half a second. “Right.” When he opened them again, his jaw was set, and his expression as focused as any SOLDIER on a mission. He planted his feet and said, “Do it.”

No time to waste. Sephiroth might be without his sword, but that advantage would not hold for long. Genesis grit his teeth as he gripped Masamune’s hilt, already warming up the Restore materia. “Brace yourself.”

Then, in one sharp jerk, pulled the blade free.

With a pained grunt, Cloud collapsed to the ground, arms still bound awkwardly behind his back. Genesis dropped Masamune, the clatter of the blade ringing in the background. He fumbled for the Restore materia, holding it so tightly that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.

Light flared, and he breathed a ragged sigh of relief as magic sealed the wound, mako eagerly aiding the process. Another patch job, but more than enough for a SOLDIER.

The whisper of settling leather made his shoulders tense. “Hmph.” Sephiroth landed lightly behind them. Masamune vanished into curls of black smoke, reappearing moments later in his hand. “So the self-professed hero arrives.”

“You’re predictable, _old friend_ ,” Genesis snapped, his rapier slicing through the bonds twined around Cloud’s wrists. “Did you truly think you’d bought anything more than a few minutes?”

Sephiroth chuckled, and the sound of it sent waves of old, familiar fury burning through Genesis’s veins. “A few minutes was all I required.”

Cloud was shoving himself to his feet already. Genesis lent an elbow – all he could spare with his rapier in one hand and the bucket of water in the other. “It won’t work,” he said, his voice thready and hoarse and barely audible. “I’ll never let you.”

“You seem to think you have a choice, Cloud.”

Genesis’s gaze darted between them. Something had changed, something he was not yet privy to. The field of play had shifted.

“I _do_ have a choice. I don’t need you to make my choices for me.”

Sephiroth merely smirked. “If you say so, Cloud.”

They faced off, balancing precariously on the edge of violence. It was only a question of who would move first.

“My sword?” Cloud asked under his breath.

Genesis shook his head, and refused to feel guilty for overlooking it. “I couldn’t carry both it and the water.” For all the strength of a SOLDIER, he still only had so many hands. Without breaking eye contact with Sephiroth, he muttered, quiet enough for only his ally’s ears to hear, “We only have one shot.”

The silence stretched as Cloud processed that. It made Genesis nervous. He’d agreed to help him rescue Weiss in theory, but faced with those odds, would he still risk it?

Best to proceed quickly, before Cloud had the chance to change his mind. “My sword or the water?” he offered in the same low voice. They only had the one blade between them, after all.

Cloud cast a sideways glance at the crimson rapier. “Neither. We need him pinned, right? I can’t do that with an unfamiliar blade.” He tugged at his gloves – torn ragged at the wrists, but protection enough.

It was entirely inappropriate given the gravity of the situation, but Genesis enjoyed a rush of warm satisfaction all the same that his comrade had arrived at the same battle plan so quickly.

Sephiroth made a sound of amusement as they broke apart, ready to fight. “What’s this? Planning to go against me unarmed? You’ve grown bold, Cloud.”

“Or maybe you’ve just grown weaker,” Cloud shot back. He shifted his stance, raising his fists and brushing the edge of his foot against Genesis’s. A silent signal.

Genesis smiled grimly. Spared a moment to focus his thoughts and energy.

And then, with a gesture of his sword, set a ring of explosions bursting around Sephiroth.

He would settle old rivalries and save Weiss at the same time.

“Your journey ends here, _old friend_!”

 

…………………..

 

The instant the fire burst, Cloud sprang forward, dashing at top speed into Sephiroth’s blind spot.

He swept a roundhouse kick at his back. It didn’t connect, his foe already twisting away, his boot scraping nothing but leather.

Too slow. Genesis’s patch job of healing had done its work, but he was far from top condition for this fight. He didn’t have his sword, either. Sephiroth had emptied his pockets of materia, likely while he’d been unconscious. The only one he had left was Water, probably only missed because it had been stowed separately, out of easy reach. It wouldn’t make a difference, though. Offensively, it was almost useless against someone of Sephiroth’s calibre.

To make matters even more difficult, they weren’t fighting to kill.

Cloud was sure he’d dealt with worse odds, but he was having trouble remembering any right then.

No room for hesitation or second thoughts. Cloud launched into a flurry of attacks, short jabbing punches and low leg sweeps. Sephiroth wove effortlessly between them, always half a step ahead and just out of reach.

Genesis tracked them, keeping his distance. The moment Cloud retreated to regroup, he let loose another bombardment. Fire burst around them, staccato explosions of blazing heat, but one swipe of Masamune pushed the flames back with a wall of air.

It bought him the opening he needed. Cloud darted forward, ducking inside the blade’s reach. And before his opponent could do much as blink, drove his fist into Sephiroth’s gut.

It was like punching a slab of mythril ore.

Sephiroth slid back, boots scraping trails on the dusty concrete. He straightened with a condescending smile. “Is that the extent of your strength?” The blow hadn’t even winded him.

Cloud shook out his hand. He didn’t have even half of Tifa’s technique in hand to hand combat. He made up for it with mako-enhanced speed and strength, but apparently that wasn’t going to be enough. “This time, it’s not just me you’re fighting.”

Sephiroth spun, barely raising Masamune in time to catch the rapier slashing at his back. The clash of metal shrieked through the tower. “Your arrogance hasn’t diminished at all, apparently,” Genesis sneered.

“How familiar,” Sephiroth drawled, and with an easy gesture, pushed the crimson rapier aside. He flicked his blade towards the bucket in Genesis’s grasp, but the other SOLDIER parried the strike, and followed it up with a torrent of flame. “It reminds me of old times. Do you remember, Genesis?”

“I don’t care to dwell on such an ugly past.” He slashed his rapier again, a line of fire bursting from it like a red-hot Blade Beam. Sephiroth swept it away with a swing of Masamune, but Cloud was already moving, leaping into the air and driving feet-first into a Falcon’s Dive.

Sephiroth loosed his wing and jumped clear. Black feathers scattered. Cloud’s heel hit concrete, and the ground _shattered_.

The floor collapsed with deafening rumble, chunks of concrete crumbling into a crater, down through one floor, then the next. Cracks spread like spider webs through the foundations. Genesis fled to the air, bucket held protectively close as he retreated to the surviving half of the demolished landing.

Cloud didn’t wait for the dust to settle – and neither did Sephiroth. His foe gunned straight for Genesis, Masamune gleaming silver through the haze of billowing grey grit.

Cloud wouldn’t let him. He got there first, his shoulder slamming into Sephiroth’s side, knocking him off course. Pain flared in his chest, the remains of his injuries making themselves known. It cost him the vital second he needed to follow through, to grab him and pin him, and his opponent drifted away unharmed once more.

“Jealous, Cloud?” Sephiroth asked.

“I’m sick of you,” he retorted, shaking out his arm to quell the ache. Odin, he missed his sword. “Why won’t you just stay a memory, like you _belong_?”  
  
“But where would that leave you?” Masamune jabbed forward, but Cloud twisted aside, and the blade passed in a whisper of air. “Without purpose, in a world that despises you.”  
  
“I don’t need you to provide me with _purpose_.” He tried to shift forward again, but Masamune’s range was enormous – once he moved outside of that inner guard, getting back inside it proved impossible without a distraction. “I need you to stay _dead_.”

“You’re in denial, Cloud.” They danced back and forth, Masamune a blur of short, sharp strikes that grazed Cloud’s arm, cheek, leg, sending tiny spatters of blood to the ground and slivers of black fabric flying. “I make you what you are. Without me, you don’t belong. You’re not one of _them_ , no matter how desperately you cling to those pathetic sheep.”

Cloud grit his teeth, threw caution to the wind, and lunged forward. Through surprise alone, he managed to hook Sephiroth’s sword arm.

Sephiroth had rattled him, in more ways than one. But that wasn’t anything new. It was how he fought. It only mattered if Cloud _let_ it get to him, let those words get under his skin. He knew how to focus, and now he knew what Sephiroth was truly after. He could fight against it.

_“You SOLDIERs are all nothing but a time bomb.”_

He shoved that thought aside, and replaced it with a bastardised version of Tifa’s Rolling Blaze. They spun in tandem, Cloud using sheer G-force to maintain his advantage, before smashing Sephiroth to the ground.

He slammed his foot onto Masamune, pinning the sword flat. Drove his knee into Sephiroth’s stomach. Sephiroth grunted, and started to raise his other arm, but Cloud caught it and pinned it, muscles straining to hold it down even with the better leverage.

“Genesis!”

The other SOLDIER dove towards them in a whirl of feathers and leather. “Hold him, Cloud Strife!”

In the strength stakes, Sephiroth would win eventually. But they only needed a moment. A window where Sephiroth couldn’t dodge.  
  
The pressure increased again, and Sephiroth’s arm slowly lifted from the floor. Cloud clenched his teeth, struggling to match it. “Don’t even try it. This is the end of the line.”  
  
A flash of red caught the corner of his eye – Genesis, arriving at last, water at the ready. Relief surged through him.  
  
Until Cloud saw a shadow of a smirk creeping across Sephiroth’s face.  
  
“No!” he blurted, as the hum of materia rose in his ears and the sword he thought he had pinned slid out from his foot like a shadow. He abandoned his position, lunging in front of Genesis just in time to take a fireball to the chest.

The heat seared for half a moment – with no sword to sweep it away or momentum to pass through the flames – before some distant part of him remembered his Water materia, and conjured just enough to douse himself. He coughed through the smoke, and his ears rung with the clash of swords as Genesis fenced with Masamune.

“Resorting to _cheap tricks_ now, Sephiroth?” sniped Genesis.

“I thought you of all people would appreciate results ahead of strategy,” Sephiroth replied, and accentuated his words with a particularly vicious sweep of his sword. Genesis met it, grimacing under the weight one-handed, before twisting his rapier and sending the strike sliding to the side. “Although, perhaps not. After all, I can’t remember you ever getting much in the way of _results_ , after all.”

The barb seemed to work, as Genesis let out an uncharacteristically inarticulate growl, throwing a truly impressive salvo at his opponent. Sephiroth simply stood fast, protected by the tell-tale shimmer of a Magic Barrier.

Cloud could have kicked himself. That had been a close call. _Too_ close. They’d walked right into Sephiroth’s trap. Why hadn’t he wondered _where_ his materia had gone? Because it hadn’t seemed important, that was why. Because the basic materia he’d been carrying with him was next to useless against Sephiroth.

Against a fragile bucket of water was a different story.

Against Genesis’s magic, too. He watched another volley of fireballs turn to harmless embers before their eyes. Genesis’s frustration grew visible as his weapon of choice didn’t even so much as force their opponent to evade anymore.

Cloud threw himself back into the fray, forcefully dragging Sephiroth’s attention away from him again. As he dodged and weaved and punched and kicked and cobbled together a mish-mash of moves he’d copied from Tifa and Loz and Rude, his mind worked furiously. Searching for something, _anything_ they could do to corner Sephiroth, to end the stalemate.

The more they fought, though, the more something felt off. He didn’t have his sword, after all, and while that meant he could move faster, it also meant he couldn’t block or parry Masamune. Yet all he had to show for it were a few bloody grazes. After that last lunge to protect the water, he’d fully expected to wind up impaled _again_.

Yet he wasn’t.

There could only be one reason for that.

“This is a fool’s errand,” remarked Sephiroth, holding Masamune in a guard to ward him off. He eyed Genesis speculatively, who circled their position from the air just beyond the half-demolished landing. Close, but out of range of a surprise attack. Frustrated as Genesis might have been, he was being appropriately cautious with the water. “You don’t even have a weapon to fight with. You’re at a disadvantage.”

“I’ve got one advantage,” Cloud retorted, and without any further explanation, dashed forward, heedless of Masamune perfectly poised to cut him in two.

Except at the last moment, when the cold steel all but kissed the fabric of his shirt, Masamune turned flat, and slammed him back with blunt force.

Cloud hit the ground, skidding to a halt halfway across the landing. A line of dull pain blossomed across his chest, but it was already growing warm, mako rushing to heal the bruise before it could even fully form.

He’d proven his point. Cloud stood, and continued, “This time, you don’t want to kill me.”

Even when he’d been pinned by Masamune, the sword had been carefully placed. Too carefully, for when dealing with a SOLDIER. It wouldn’t have killed him even if Genesis _hadn’t_ been there with a Restore materia.  
  
Sephiroth, infuriatingly, remained unperturbed. “Then our situations aren’t so different, are they? After all-” He gestured to himself. “You don’t seem to want to harm this vessel either.”  
  
He clenched his jaw hard enough to ache. “ _Genesis_ doesn’t. I can be persuaded.” It was an empty threat though, and Sephiroth’s expression said he knew it. Cloud didn’t have the  _capability_ to kill him without a sword. The water was their only choice.  
  
The only weapons he had were his fists, a Water materia, and the knowledge that Sephiroth would avoid making a fatal strike.  
  
“Genesis,” he called, not breaking eye contact. “Wet hair, remember?”  
  
A brief pause followed that, until somewhere from his left came the response, “Very good  _indeed_ , Cloud Strife.” There was a flurry of feathers as he retreated.

Cloud adjusted his gloves. This was the last trick up his sleeve, and it would only work once. This time, he _had_ to get a clean pin, or their plan to save Weiss was as good as busted.

He darted forward, throwing a testing punch. Sephiroth knocked it aside with the hilt of his sword, stepping forward as though to follow through, but Cloud was faster, darting around and sweeping another kick at his back.

“Aren’t you tired of this yet?” Sephiroth asked, amused. He sent a volley of fire towards Genesis, presumably just to show he could, but Cloud didn’t worry about it – at that range, it wouldn’t be any danger to the water. “If you’re drawing this out in hopes of outlasting me, you’ll be disappointed.”

“You’re right,” Cloud responded. “I’m done with you. Genesis, now!”

Sephiroth whirled, to face a spray of water bearing down on him.

His reaction was immediate. He threw himself backwards, twisting to the side, arching bodily away from the showering droplets.

And Cloud got his opening.

He slammed his shoulder into Sephiroth’s side, throwing him even further off-balance. With his right hand, he struck at Masamune’s hilt – with the left, caught the flat of the blade – and sent it spinning from Sephiroth’s grasp into his own.

It felt heavy in his grip – as heavy as the Buster Sword – and awkward. But Cloud didn’t need to fight with it.

He hooked his left leg behind Sephiroth’s knees, sweeping his feet out from under him. Slammed his opponent into the floor hard enough to crack the concrete.

And drove Masamune between his ribs to pin him to the floor.

“Your turn, now,” Cloud spat, straddling his legs and pressing down on the hilt.

“How unexpected,” Sephiroth said, and for the first time, his voice had gained a rough edge to it. “You don’t care about poor old Weiss after all, do you? Have you given up on Genesis at last?”

“It didn’t kill me,” he retorted. “It won’t kill Weiss.”

Sephiroth chuckled, and tilted his head back, his hair splayed around it like silver rays. “And what do you hope to accomplish, then? Your precious water _missed_.”

Cloud didn’t respond, and Sephiroth’s gaze slid to the edge of his sleeve, spattered by a few stray droplets. “…I see. Water materia.” He almost sounded _intrigued_. “Impressive, for a mere puppet.”

Cloud’s grip tightened on Masamune, and it sunk another inch into Sephiroth’s chest. A fresh wave of blood welled briefly from the wound, sending thin crimson trails running across his pale torso.

His archenemy merely sighed. “You always insist on doing things the hard way, don’t you Cloud?”

“Genesis!” Cloud called, then glared back down at Sephiroth. “You can’t escape this time.” Even if he could remove Masamune on his own, it would still slow him down enough for Genesis to get a clean shot. He could already see him running towards them from the corner of his eyes, water at the ready.

“It won’t work,” Sephiroth said, bemused despite being pinned to the ground by his own sword.

“You dodged the water,” Cloud retorted. “And you seem pretty interested in destroying what’s left of the real thing.” That was as good as proof that the spring’s water would work.

“That’s not why.”

Masamune turned to smoke in his hands. Startled, Cloud overbalanced and fell forward.

Sephiroth’s hand snapped up, and fisted itself in his hair before he could pull away. “Isn’t this cozy?” he murmured mockingly. “I had no idea you felt that way, Cloud.”

Cloud froze, skin crawling at even the suggestion. “Don’t mess with me. You’re not even interested in that,” he breathed.

“No,” Sephiroth agreed. “But this hurts _both_ of you.”

Then he pulled him down, and forced their lips together.

Cloud choked, fighting against the grip, but couldn’t get purchase. He punched blindly, trying to hit the wound Masamune should have left behind, but Sephiroth’s fingers just dug painfully into his skull instead.

Something pungent, rotten and viscous passed over his tongue, too thick and slimy to be saliva. He tried to snap his teeth shut against it, but static flared in a haze of white, freezing his muscles, locking his jaw for that agonisingly long breath as it slipped down his throat.

Panic kicked in, and Cloud summoned a fresh burst of strength, forcefully tearing away. Thin trails of dark, oily liquid spilled from the edge of his lips. He wiped at his mouth, throat working, struggling to throw up but coming up dry. “That was….”

He knew the answer without having to ask.

Sephiroth smirked, rising from the ground, heedless of the still-bleeding wound Masamune had left in his chest. “There wasn’t much left to go around. And I needed some to make proper use of this body. But the rest, Cloud?” He paused, as though savouring the words. “I’ve been saving especially for _you_.”

_Jenova cells_.

Over his shoulder, he could see Genesis, frozen in place, water seemingly forgotten in his arms. And could only watch his expression slowly morphing from murderous rage to horror.

“Say goodbye, Cloud Strife,” Sephiroth murmured, and then the static rose, images flashing through his head in a torrent, a thousand voices of the Lifestream screaming… then only silence.

 

 


	27. Chapter 26

 

 

Genesis’s body turned cold, frozen like a green cadet getting his first taste of true combat. Thought processes ground to a halt, the weight of the water in his arms forgotten, all sensory perception dulled to the point of nothingness.

Sephiroth’s visage faded away, and Weiss dropped boneless to the ground – a puppet with his strings cut. The wound in his chest bled freely, sending crimson rivers across his bare stomach.

It was the first time Genesis had clearly seen his charge’s face in _months_. The sight made his stomach lurch. His skin was sallow and patched with grey, like it had turned gangrenous.

_Geostigma_?

Genesis took half a step towards him, but jerked his gaze back to Cloud. Dark smoke had begun to gather at his feet, rippling upwards in an ominous wave. It curled around his legs, his arms, his chest, inky tendrils racing to cover every open inch, until he was utterly enveloped in it.

When it dissipated, Sephiroth stood in his place.

“No,” Genesis murmured. Denial made his tongue thick in his mouth. It couldn’t be. He _refused_ to believe it. The Goddess could not be so heartless to set such a trial _._

Sephiroth stretched out his arm, and in another burst of black miasma, Masamune reformed, gleaming silver, all trace of Weiss’s blood gone. He turned it slightly, casually inspecting it. “This vessel is less than ideal, but it will be adequate.”

“No. This is ridiculous,” Genesis repeated, voice growing louder, as though hoping he could reassert reality by power of his words alone. “Cloud is not the same as Weiss, or those pathetic remnants and clones. This is _not possible_. He has his _own_ will!”

“The human will is a strange thing,” Sephiroth replied, in a tone almost conversational. “It can be exposed to enormous pressure, and not even crack.” He opened and closed his fist several times, as though testing the response of his fingers. “But that same will can be so easily worn down over time. Doubts, insecurities, betrayals… Chip after chip, until nothing remains.”

“I don’t believe you. Cloud isn’t that weak,” snapped Genesis.

Sephiroth smirked. “Willpower is a finite resource. And my poor puppet was so _very_ tired… Nowhere he could rest. Nobody he could trust. And most importantly… no hope left for the future.”

A chill ran through Genesis, chasing away all warmth, running right to the tips of his fingers. The memory of an old conversation echoed in his ears – flippant words at the time, suddenly made portentous.

_“It’s obvious. You, Cloud Strife, are looking for a_ future _.”_

An ache grew in his chest. A settling sense of deep dread and silent guilt he’d not felt since leaving the DeepGround.

“I should thank you, old friend,” Sephiroth drawled. “You provided the very last push I needed. After that…” His smile stretched slowly, cruel. “It was only a matter of time.”

It took all of Genesis’s self-control not to rise to the bait, to still the rising tide of indignation and denial and _fury_. This was a battle. This was a _mission_. He could not afford to lose focus.

His thoughts raced. It must have been Jenova cells. Before, Sephiroth had only been able to freeze Cloud for an instant. And from what he’d learned of the past, S-cells alone couldn’t let him do anything more than _influence_ previous clones. Outright manifestation required something more.

His gaze flitted to the water, bucket still clutched in his left arm.

“ _…Even if the morrow should not forgive me, I shall carry no regrets._ ” The words were a whisper on his lips.

Sephiroth heard anyway. “And still you cling to old poems.” He lifted Masamune, shifting into stance. “I’m disappointed in you, old friend.”

“That makes two of us.” Genesis took a step backwards and to the side – enough to put just a little more distance between them, but not enough to give the impression of retreat. “It’s no surprise you became a monster. You’ve never been able to appreciate the value or beauty of anything beyond yourself.”

“Nothing else on this Planet is of any worth to me.”

“Then why are you so eager to return to its surface, time and time again?” Genesis shot back. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, _old friend_.”

Sephiroth didn’t answer directly, but Genesis spied the faint tick of irritation in his eyebrow – a tiny, subtle tell, that he recognised only from years of familiarity. “Ever the hypocrite. But in memory of old times, I’ll make you an offer.”

Genesis let out a bark of laughter. “Have you become such a _cliché_? Providing terms of surrender before you’ve even won?” He levelled his rapier at eye-height, staring down the crimson length of the blade. “Do go on, then. What is the _great General Sephiroth_ going to so  _graciously_ offer me?”

The tick of irritation was unmistakeable now, but just as quickly Sephiroth’s brow smoothed. “A stay of execution. You can leave now, and I’ll allow you to roam the Planet as you please until the end of its days.” He gestured minutely towards Weiss’s prone form. “As a token of old friendship, I’ll even let you take your precious Weiss with you. After all…” His pause was saturated with dark amusement. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

The temptation struck like a dagger to the gut. Sharp, painful, and utterly unexpected.

Weiss lay on the ground, still bleeding, skin grey and blotched with what he could only presume to be Geostigma. Glowing eyes blank. Helpless. _Defenceless_.

The offer was _incredibly_ generous. Sephiroth might put off a troublesome fight, but Genesis would gain so much more. He could flee with Weiss. Get him to safety. Recover, regroup, and plan. Return for Sephiroth – for _Cloud_ – later. Whatever his old foe was planning, he surely wouldn’t be able to put it into effect that quickly. Removing Weiss and having a few hours to recover would improve his position _enormously_.

Could he risk leaving Cloud in Sephiroth’s hands for that long, though? Would he be able to find them again so easily? He couldn’t help but be suspicious.

Yet his charge was stretched out on the ground before him, bleeding and vulnerable. No one else would help the Tsviet, and Weiss was in no condition at all to help himself. Could he risk  _not_ taking this opportunity?

Genesis stared at Weiss’s prone form from the corner of his eyes.

To even offer the choice was cruel.

“…Unacceptable.”

Sephiroth, for his part, didn’t seem surprised at that response. “You wish to rescue him, then.” His expression was as superior, as _smug_ , as the rival in his memories. Condescending, even beyond death. “You’re wasting your time. Cloud Strife is no more.”

Genesis bared his teeth. “Then that only makes you the fool who killed the tonberry.”

It was impossible to tell who moved first. Masamune slashed, and just as swiftly Genesis backpedalled, throwing out a blast of flames.

Explosions thundered through the skeletal skyscraper, shaking the foundations and sending out waves of blistering heat. Silver flashed, and the flames parted, cleaved by a burst of blue energy. Genesis spun to the side, wind ripping at his coat as it passed him by.

He’d barely completed the turn when Sephiroth appeared before him, Masamune stabbing towards his throat.

Panicked reflex was all that let him knock the blow away in time. The tip of sword grazed his forehead. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. An instant slower and it would have taken out his eye.

He didn’t even have time to recover before the katana was slashing forward again, a deadly silver blur arcing towards his shoulder. He jerked aside. It cleaved through the concrete instead, tearing through the ground to reveal a sliver of the floor below.

The third strike he anticipated, and _still_ barely managed to catch. The shock jarred his arm and rattled his teeth. It took all of his mako-enhanced strength to turn the blade and push it aside.

He leapt back, pulse drumming like thunder in his ears. _Too fast_. He whirled on instinct. Sephiroth was already behind him, striking at his back.

He’d forgotten. Over the years, he’d forgotten what it truly felt like, how _overwhelming_ every fight was, how _easy_ Sephiroth made it look even as you rasped for breath and your muscles turned to water.

Sephiroth had been strong before. But this time, using Cloud as a host… It was like comparing a wolf with a dragon.

“In over your head?” Sephiroth asked, before he vanished again. Genesis grit his teeth, spinning to parry, having to step back to bear the impossible weight as their blades clashed again.

“You’re as arrogant as ever!” Genesis spat. “You’ve obviously learned nothing in death.” He ducked to the side, sliding out of the lock as quick as he dared.

Sephiroth moved so fast he _blurred_ , appearing and disappearing in swirls of darkness. Genesis turned, following the shift of air, and knocked aside Masamune mere seconds before it could stab him in the shoulder. It was barely enough, the katana sliding past to slice his arm, painting its edge red with blood.

Genesis hissed, dancing backwards and batting the blade away. His arm stung, but he shoved the pain ruthlessly aside.

“I could say the same to you,” Sephiroth replied. Wind gusted through the blown-out windows, tousling his hair and shifting grit across the ground between them. “Where has that legendary strength gone?”

Genesis’s breath felt too heavy, and he was acutely aware of the itching graze still healing above his eye, and the throbbing gash on his arm.

His movement was restricted with the water. He couldn’t keep up with this kind of swordplay. He wasn’t fast enough, didn’t have the manoeuvrability.

That left with him with only one choice.

His rapier began to glow crimson, magic curling through the runes scribed into the blade. “Just wait, and I’ll show it to you!”

He struck the ground with his sword. Fire spread out from it in a shockwave – an impenetrable wall of light and heat consuming everything in its path.

Genesis smiled grimly. If he were outmatched with steel, he would simply not allow the fight to progress to that point.

His smile quickly faded, though, when the flames began to sputter, and then a moment later, were buried under a tumbling cascade of water.

_Water materia_?

The last of the fire flickered out, a shallow wave of water gushing over Genesis’s boots. Sephiroth stood across from him, a green materia glowing faintly in his hand.

_Cloud’s_.

Genesis’ jaw clenched so hard his teeth grinded in his mouth. “Am I supposed to be _impressed_ by that display?” he sneered. “That materia isn’t even _mastered_.”

Sephiroth tilted his head. “And yet, it’s more than enough to deal with _you_.”

Genesis all but growled, “We’ll see about _that_!”

He snapped his fingers, and the floor _filled_ with explosions.

Steam billowed around Sephiroth as water burst from the materia, crashing into the wall of flames. Genesis didn’t relent, though, adding to the conflagration, a steady stream of fire and heat that built and built, until the blaze shone like a star.

The volume of water couldn’t match it. Sephiroth might have possessed the materia, but magic involved the _mind_ more than the body. Genesis intended to make him pay for that assumption in _full_.

The liquid barricade collapsed, the fire eating hungrily into the space beyond, a raging torrent of flames that roared through the building, blasting out the other side, leaving only ashes and charred concrete in its path.

Except… when the blaze finally died down, Sephiroth wasn’t even singed. A translucent barrier shimmered around him, refracting the light like a thousand tiny panes of glass.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he mocked.

_Barrier materia_. Also Cloud’s. Genesis cursed himself for forgetting.

No matter. There were ways around this, too. Sephiroth would just as quickly learn the folly of relying on a Magic Barrier.

He swept out his arm, calling a barrage of fireballs. His foe merely smiled, not even bothering to dodge.

Until the fireballs splashed against his barrier, turning to embers… and revealed the glowing crimson blades hidden within.

The magical swords tore through the shield in a shower of sparks, hissing and sputtering like metal serpents. Sephiroth threw himself backwards, half a second too late as the ethereal blades tore through his coat.

“Did you think I was a one-trick hound?” Genesis snarled. “How quickly you’ve forgotten our battles!”

The swords dissipated into motes of light. Sephiroth was left clutching his bleeding side, with matching shallow gashes on both of his thighs. “I threw such trivial memories away in the Lifestream.” He lifted his hand, examining the blood on it thoughtfully. “You have an odd way of showing you care. Perhaps you’ve changed your mind on rescuing him?”

Genesis readied another salvo. “You’ve both survived a sword to the chest before. I’ll take my chances.” Injuries could be healed. He needed to get Cloud _back_ first.

And if he _couldn’t_ get Cloud back… then Genesis would make a tonberry’s grudge look _tame_.

With no way to be sure which fireballs held the blades, his opponent had no choice but to retreat. Genesis launched spells like bullets, his rapier singing with each slash that sent another volley peppering Sephiroth’s footsteps.

“What do you hope to accomplish?” Sephiroth asked. He weaved through the flaming missiles, and with one swipe of Masamune, blasted away three at once. “Even if you could win here, it won’t bring him back. And even if it did bring him back, what would it change? You have no place in this world, no _purpose_.”

“Do not presume to lecture me about _purpose_ ,” Genesis snapped, and punctuated his words with an explosion. A concrete pillar collapsed with a shuddering rumble, opening the ceiling to the floor above. “You couldn’t comprehend the will of the Goddess!”

“You continue to suffer delusions of grandeur.” His old rival darted through the flames, attacking in a flurry of steel and fire of his own. Genesis blasted the floor beneath his opponent’s feet as he struggled to retreat back out of range. “You’re broken,” Sephiroth taunted. “You’re a shadow of your former self. You went crazy long ago, but you’re a good enough _actor_ to pass as sane.”

“Better that, than a monster who can no longer even _act_ human!” With a vicious swipe of his flaming rapier, Genesis finally forced his foe back once more. Before Sephiroth could rebound, he threw out another array of fireballs and magic swords. Two tore through the magic shield, but his opponent dodged them easily.

Sweat ran down the back of his neck, sticking his skin uncomfortably to his collar. That particular trick might have been able to break through a magic barrier, but it took a great deal more energy, and lacked the responsive speed to compensate for movement – the only reason why he hadn’t used it sooner. But the possibility existed now that any fireball might be hiding a Magic Sword. Sephiroth would have no choice but to dodge or disable _all_ of them.

All that meant, though, was that they’d reached an impasse. Genesis could keep him at bay with fireballs and the _threat_ of magic swords, but he couldn’t reliably do damage. Yet he couldn’t fight close quarters, either. Not with the water to protect.

His thoughts raced, flitting through the dozens and dozens of times they’d fought and sparred years ago, searching for that one weakness, that one opening, that one strategy he’d never quite been able to find. The water sloshed faintly in the bucket as he spun out the way of an energy slash. There was _always_ a path, _always_ a road to victory, if only he could find it!

Then Weiss lurched to his feet.

Genesis faltered, and very barely avoided Sephiroth’s next attack. He loosed his wing, using the extra momentum to vault himself clear to the edge of the building.

Sephiroth let him go, watching his retreat with cold amusement. Genesis barely noticed, his attention fixated on the pale, rising form of his charge. Weiss took a few drunken steps forward, before finally finding his centre of balance. He straightened, and ever so slowly, raised his head.

His gaze was dull and unseeing. His eyes tracked, but there was no comprehension there, no awareness. As blank and empty as ever.

Genesis shuddered. A mindless marionette. It brought back foul memories of degrading, mindless copies. Of rotting skin and greying hair and once-proud SOLDIERs turned to little more than trained beasts.

His throat tightened, until he could barely force the word out. “How…?”

“Since you didn’t want him, I decided I could find _some_ use for this puppet,” Sephiroth remarked, and with no further fanfare, _attacked_.

Weiss moved in tandem, dashing forward in a blur. Genesis threw out a salvo of fire, but Weiss didn’t slow in the least, powering through, seemingly oblivious to the blazing inferno blistering his skin. The pungent scent of burning flesh rose in the air.

It left him with no choice but to cut the spell short or risk roasting Weiss alive. He raised his rapier in a guard, but could only watch in horror as his former charge merely raised his fists to strike, utterly ignoring the crimson steel waiting to skewer him.

Sephiroth had found his version of a Magic Sword spell.

Genesis threw himself from the building, taking to the sky as a last resort. Weiss couldn’t follow him there.

Sephiroth, on the other hand, _could_.

In a burst of black feathers and dark miasma, a single wing – perfectly formed, not bowed and double-jointed like his – stretched from Sephiroth’s back, and launched him into the air. Genesis rolled, barely catching Masamune on his rapier before it could slice him in half. The shock travelled down his arm, and it was all he could do to resist dropping the bucket to brace with his other hand.

“Don’t even think of trying to escape,” said Sephiroth. “You made your choice. You could have rescued poor, innocent Weiss. Instead, you reached for both, and now…” With a forceful push, he threw Genesis back towards headquarters. “You lose _everything_.”

Concrete rushed to meet him. Through dogged stubbornness, Genesis stretched his wing wide enough to alter his trajectory, crashing instead through a half-broken window two stories up. The water sloshed dangerously in the bucket, lurching over the rim. A smattering of droplets splattered on the ground.

He scrambled back to his feet, keeping the water as steady as possible. A frantic glance from the corner of his eyes confirmed he’d lost hardly any, but he couldn’t afford to risk even a small amount – they had no idea how much was necessary to displace Sephiroth’s will, much less purify the body of Jenova’s cells.

Sephiroth landed lightly on the building’s edge. This level was as bare as the others, most windows long blown out and floor stripped of everything, leaving behind only concrete pillars and the occasional scrap of office debris.

“You’ve sunk lower than I ever thought possible,” growled Genesis. “Truly, to call you a mere  _monster_ is a _kindness_.”

Sephiroth merely smirked, and swept Masamune through the air. Energy lanced off the blade, slicing gouges in the concrete. Genesis swung his rapier, splitting it in half. His coat fluttered in the passing rush of air.

Then the ground beneath his feet burst open.

He dove to the side, wing flapping frantically to keep his balance. Chunks of plaster and steel and concrete rained around them.  
  
The slap of bare feet in front of him was almost lost in the rumble and crunch of settling rubble. It was only finely honed battle reflexes that had Genesis stepping backwards, barely avoiding the pale fist swinging at his jaw.

The dust cleared, revealing Weiss once more, knuckles and arms bloody with grazes, and gaze as vacant as ever.

“Weiss,” Genesis urged, willing his voice to reach. “ _Brother_! Wake up!”

Weiss merely stepped forward again, fist driving towards Genesis’s gut. It was easily dodged, but then Sephiroth was there too, and the hasty barricade of flames was nearly too slow, bursting so close that it singed his gloves.

It had been a futile plea, and he already knew it. Weiss had remained unresponsive for months, even without Sephiroth’s thrall. There would be no miracles there.

SOLDIERs made their _own_ miracles.

Weiss struck again, and Genesis spun out of the way. His fist carried through, taking a chunk out of a concrete pillar instead. It was almost _clumsy_. Sephiroth clearly couldn’t easily control  _two_ of them, and S-cells meant he was more compatible with Cloud.

He didn’t need finesse, though. One thing Weiss always had was raw strength, easily on par with Angeal’s. And worse, Sephiroth didn’t care at all if he tore Weiss’s body apart. It was now nothing more than a blunt object, a tool to be used up and discarded.

“Why do you struggle so hard?” Sephiroth appeared from nowhere and slashed at his flank. Genesis twisted away at the last moment. Masamune shivered across the bucket’s surface, leaving a razor-thin scratch in the wood. “You’re a fool. No future awaits you.” He swung again, and Masamune clashed with ring of metal against his rapier.

They matched strength for a moment, though it was no contest – using only one hand, it was all Genesis could do to keep the massive katana at bay. His arm shook from the strain, the metal rattling ominously.

“Cloud!” he hissed. “You are _stronger_ than this! You’ve defeated him before!”

Sephiroth pushed him away with casual ease. “He can’t hear you.”

Then Weiss was there again, and slammed his fist into his side.

Genesis barely turned in time to protect the water. He could do nothing for his ribs. The ominous crunch of bone echoed in his ears, and then he was skidding across the ground, keeping his feet only thanks to the reflexive flapping of his wing.

He staggered, choking for air, some distant part of him still alert enough to lay down a cover of fire. Knives of pain stabbed into his side – dear Goddess, he had forgotten how badly broken ribs could _hurt_. He fumbled for the Restore materia, no time for anything but the quickest of Cures to take the edge off so he could keep fighting. The spell had barely taken hold before he had to move again, evading Weiss’s relentless pursuit and Masamune’s razor edge.

Materia exhaustion crept through his bones - a grey weariness that made flying increasingly difficult and each spell a little slower and weaker than the last. Even with Fire materia, he couldn’t cast forever. His injuries were slowly and surely accumulating, his mako enhanced healing unable to keep up even with the assistance of his patchy Cures.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fight both Weiss and Sephiroth – _Cloud_ – off and protect the water at the same time. And even if he could, that was _all_ he could hope to do.

It was a war of attrition, and he was going to lose.

The water glinted orange in the corner of his vision, surface catching the light of the afternoon sun.

In some ways, it made it easier. He didn’t have any choice. Not really.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Weiss lurched towards him again, tenacious and unerring. Genesis threw himself clear, whirling midair to catch Masamune rushing towards his back.

Their blades clashed, bounced, and clashed again, the metal ringing like bells in his ears.

Sephiroth drove him back, deeper into the building, away from any hope of aerial escape. “Ten years, and nothing’s changed. You’re still a failure. Still fighting losing battles.” He swung again, each strike aiming for the water, Genesis barely able to fend the katana off.

Until he didn’t.

“Maybe,” he sneered, “the point isn’t to _win_!”  
  
Genesis twisted at the last moment, protecting the water with his body. Masamune struck true, tearing through his coat and gouging deep into his side. Blood spilled down his leg. His rapier clattered against the ground.  
  
He grabbed Sephiroth’s coat with one hand, holding him close, and rasped though bloody lips, “ _Legend shall speak of my sacrifice, of the story past the World’s End._ Beloved, _Final Act_. _”_

And then threw the water into his face.

 

 


	28. Chapter 27

 

 

There was only darkness, silence, and the vague, unsettling echo of foreign emotions beyond. Flashes of knowledge and insight that processed with stunning slowness. And above all else… numbness. Exhaustion.

Sleep.

Until, without any warning, Cloud jolted awake.

Light burst across his eyes, sensory input flooding in. Air prickled against wet skin, blood roared in his ears, the stale mix of concrete dust and the sharp tang of copper slammed into his sinuses like a truck.

He gasped, stumbling forward as the world spun dizzyingly. His stomach lurched, but almost immediately calmed, a curiously _clean_ feeling washing through him, like a cool breeze on a sunny day. Something about it felt oddly familiar.

His vision cleared, Cloud blinking away the blurriness, until the crimson smear in front of him resolved into a man. “…Genesis?” His voice came out hoarse, crackling around the edges.

He was answered with a lopsided smirk. “Wet hair,” Genesis croaked, “is a good look for you.”

And then dropped to his knees, arm pressed tightly against his side.

His side that was soaked in blood.

Everything flooded back in that moment. Jenova cells. The falling curtain of darkness. The choking, drowning sensation, as he struggled to fight, only to find he had nothing left to fight  _with_.

_Sephiroth_.

Odin, what had he _done_? “Genesis!” Cloud rushed to catch him before he could collapse to the ground.

“Just a scratch,” Genesis rasped. “Not nearly enough to kill a SOLDIER.”  
  
Cloud’s stomach churned. There was so much blood, the wound so deep, like he’d almost been sliced in half. “Materia!” he demanded, near frantic. This scenario had become far too common of late, but it didn’t get any easier.  
  
Genesis fumbled, nearly dropping the glowing sphere, his gloves slick with blood. Cloud snatched it from his hands, pouring energy into it. Years of practice was all that kept him from overloading the spell in haste.  
  
“Weiss,” Genesis urged, voice growing faint and eyelids drooping.  
  
The materia flared, and green light struggled to seal the wound. “Weiss?” Cloud asked distractedly, already starting up another spell.

“You have to…” His words dissolved into a pained hiss.

Cloud fired off the second spell, watching anxiously as the magic did its work. Still not enough – he needed a high-level spell, not a quick Cure. He gathered his waning energy, marshalling his concentration for another cast.

He’d barely started when his shoulder muscles tensed, as a second, intangible awareness prickled at the back of his thoughts.

Cloud paused, and the spell withered. He carefully slipped the materia onto Genesis’s palm, curling his fingers protectively around it.

Boots scuffed against the concrete behind him.

Cloud spun around.

To the sight of steel driving towards his face.

He flung up his hand on reflex, trying to knock the blow aside. Masamune stabbed his palm, slicing through his hand, and then his shoulder.

“Did you think you’d won?” Sephiroth taunted, the words sharp and vicious as knives. “You’ve achieved _nothing_.”

Cloud didn’t think – just acted, his body moving long before his mind had the chance to register it. Panic, maybe. Pain. Adrenaline. Rage. _Fear_.

“Why won’t you stay _gone_?” he snarled, grabbing the flat of the blade with his other hand and yanking it clear. Blood spilled from his arm and shoulder, a flash of heat that he barely noticed. He didn’t stop, swinging through – sharp, wild punches that drove Sephiroth back, _away_.

“I’ll never be gone,” Sephiroth replied. “My shadow is burned onto your heart. You’ll call me back, again and again.” He swiped with Masamune. Cloud dropped, hand braced on the ground, as steel whistled across the top of his head. He launched himself forward, feet first in a bastardised version of Tifa’s Dolphin Kick. His heel crunched into Sephiroth’s jaw, sending him staggering.

Genesis was lying on the ground behind him, covered in blood, because Cloud hadn’t been strong enough to fight off Sephiroth. He would do _anything_ to put that right.

“Then I’ll stop you as many times as it takes!”

  
……………….

 

Genesis tried to track the battle through blurry vision. Splotches of darkness crawled in the edges, but he forced them back through sheer stubbornness. He was a _SOLDIER First Class_. He would _not_ pass out from blood loss.

The Restore materia sat heavy in his palm, a ball of lead where warm marble should be. He tore his gaze away from the black shadows dancing back and forth through the demolished level, focusing his attention on it.

From the deepest, darkest depths of his reserves, he managed to coax one more spell from the materia. The green light flared – weakly, but he only needed enough to hold him together. Enough to get moving, to banish the pain to the point where he could ignore it.

The Restore dropped from his fingers, tumbling across the cracked concrete with a glassy ring. Genesis took a deep breath. It sent spears of pain digging into his side, but it was dry, and came clean.

He rolled to his good side, placed his hands on the floor, and with agonising slowness, pushed himself to his feet. A flash of crimson steel glinted in the corner of his vision, catching the afternoon sun. His rapier. He stumbled towards it, grabbing the hilt in a clumsy grip.

Somehow, he managed to bring himself upright. He braced himself against one of the surviving pillars.

The ground shuddered beneath his feet as Cloud slammed his fist into the concrete, sending showers of dust and grit cascading from the ceiling and fresh cracks running along the floor. Sephiroth responded with a whirl of flashing silver, but Cloud dove through it, inside his guard in an eye blink, swinging into an uppercut that didn’t connect, spinning and kicking and grappling like his fists were made of knives. One arm was completely covered in blood, and he didn’t even seem to register it.

It was wild. Ferocious. Vicious, efficient, brutal, and elegant all at once.

Genesis realised that this was the first time he’d seen Cloud Strife fight with his back truly against the wall. With no weapons, no backup, no plan. Just desperate self-preservation.

It no longer seemed so surprising that this man defeated Sephiroth as a mere trooper.

It was time to finish this. “Cloud!” He tossed his rapier overhead, biting down against the flash of agony in his side.

Cloud snatched it out of the air and swung down. Steel crashed against steel, sending sparks flying and the metallic clash echoing through the tower.

With a blade in his hand, it was over astonishingly quickly. Cloud parried, then struck, and struck again, driving his enemy back with every step.

Then with one blow, knocked Masamune from his grip, and slammed Sephiroth against a pillar.

The katana spun across the concrete. Cloud levelled the rapier at Sephiroth’s heart.

And stopped moving.  
  
Genesis stumbled towards them, alarm flooding his veins with adrenaline. Sephiroth _couldn’t_ , surely he didn’t _still_ have a hold, not after the _water_ -  
  
“What’s the matter, Cloud?” he purred. He tilted his head in mock contemplation, silver hair falling to the side. “Did you forget? You can’t hurt this body. Because then you’d be killing poor, innocent Weiss, who you’ve worked so hard to save.” His gaze narrowed, half-lidded and sultry. “Just like poor Genesis couldn’t bring himself to kill _you_ , and paid for it.”  
  
“Shut up,” Cloud growled. The tip of the rapier pierced Sephiroth’s skin, sending a trickle of blood running down his chest.

“Idiot,” Genesis breathed. “Don’t listen to him.” He went unheard. Why didn’t Cloud just _end_ it already, while he still had the upper hand?

“You don’t have the nerve,” goaded Sephiroth. “Genesis would never forgive you. He’s all you have left, isn’t he? A broken, insane SOLDIER, who’s an even bigger failure than you.”

“Shut _up_! Genesis!” Cloud shouted.

He didn’t know, Genesis realised with a lurch.

He didn’t know that there was no water left. Hadn’t noticed the bucket rolling off to the side, the last few drops soaking uselessly into the concrete. Hadn’t registered the water dripping from his hair. Hadn’t yet realised _how_ Genesis had broken Sephiroth’s hold on him.

_He was still fighting to save Weiss_.

Out of Cloud’s sight, wisps of dark miasma began to curl in Sephiroth’s hand.

There was no time.  
  
Genesis threw himself towards them, and slammed his hand against the rapier’s hilt.  
  
The blade drove deep, until it struck the steel core of the column. Cloud jerked away, shock and confusion written across his face.  
  
Sephiroth only stared at him, wide-eyed.

His image wavered, wisps of darkness seeming to evaporate from his very skin.

And then he vanished. Leaving only Weiss, impaled on a crimson blade.

For one long moment, the Tsviet’s didn’t move. Then his hand, patched with grey, twitched at his side. The head of spiky-white hair rolled slightly, bright, glowing gaze sluggishly rising to settle on Genesis’s face.

Weiss’s mouth parted, and his arm half-rose, as though to reach for him. Followed by his voice, scratchy, and weak as a whisper. “Brother…”

Then fell limp, and silent. The glow in his eyes faded, and his body sagged.

“Forgive me,” Genesis murmured, and pulled the rapier free. “May the Goddess guide you to the Promised Land.” He moved to catch the body before it could collapse to the ground.

Cloud stared. “Why-?”

“The water was gone,” Genesis replied. Gently, he laid Weiss out, running a hand across his face to close his eyes. If it weren’t for his wounds, and the sickly colour of his skin, he might have been sleeping. “There was no other choice.”

There had never been a choice. Weiss had been lost the very moment Sephiroth took over Cloud. Even if he’d spent the water on him, Sephiroth would have simply killed them both in the end. Genesis had only been in denial, had only fought to buy to time to try to think of another solution.

“The water…” The following silence was thick with horrified realisation.

Genesis closed his eyes, and slumped against the concrete column, sliding down until he rested on the floor. As the adrenaline receded, he was left only with cold weariness and the burning pain of half-healed wounds.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Cloud. “This was my fault. Because I couldn’t stop him-”  
  
“Don’t take credit for my failures, Cloud Strife,” Genesis snapped. “And don’t you dare make my sacrifice in vain.”

Cloud fell silent. Peripherally, Genesis was aware of him sliding down the column to sit perpendicular to him. “You didn’t fail.”

“Spare me your patronising lies. I don’t require them.”

The silence stretched a little longer this time. Cloud tilted his head back. They both avoided looking at Weiss’s eerily still body. Up so high, in the middle of the Midgar, patched with Geostigma… it wouldn’t dissipate into the Lifestream anytime soon.

“I’m still sorry,” Cloud repeated, his voice low and rough. “I know that before, I was willing to… but I really did try. To save him, I mean. I didn’t want this to happen.”

This was not a conversation he wanted to have. Not so soon. “You have nothing to explain.” After all, the idiot had very nearly put himself in harm’s way _again_ in the effort.

Cloud hung his head. He seemed to dither for a moment, before murmuring, “Then… thanks, I guess. You shouldn’t have had to choose. But… thanks.”

Genesis huffed out a half-hearted laugh. It tasted bitter on his tongue. “Do not thank me for _that_ , Cloud Strife. You know as well as I do that there was no choice.”

“I know. But still… I wouldn’t have blamed you. If you chose Weiss anyway.”

Genesis scoffed, and turned his head away. “You underrate your importance, Cloud Strife.” They would have to discuss that, at some point. He sighed, staring into the distance. “…Perhaps I was simply in denial. Perhaps he was a lost cause from the very start. You may not be aware, but the Deep Ground Uprising was his idea, at least initially.” He stripped the gloves from his hands – so soaked in blood as to be useless – and tossed them carelessly aside. “In the end, was it really Weiss I was seeking to redeem? Or merely myself?”

Now he would never know. Another eight years, to be haunted by what-ifs.

It was an unpleasant notion, and one he didn’t care to dwell on. Genesis rolled his head back, eyeing Cloud’s left arm. Stabbed right through the palm and shoulder, and still bleeding. How he’d fought with it defied belief, even for a SOLDIER. “You should get a Cure on that.”

“It’s fine. What about you?” Cloud sounded more tired than accusing. “Those Cures weren’t nearly enough to fix your injuries.”

He glanced at the Restore materia. It rested at least five body lengths away, glowing innocently in the shadow of one of the other surviving pillars. “I don’t care enough to move.”

Cloud grunted, but he didn’t move either.

They sat there for what seemed like an eternity, as the sun slowly sank into the horizon. Their shoulders barely touching, and only the gradually steadying draw of their breath breaking the silence.

They were both streaked with blood and dirt. Genesis’s coat was ruined, most likely beyond repair this time, and Cloud’s shirt was in tatters. Under other circumstances, he might have appreciated the look. Currently, he didn’t have the energy to spare.

“Sephiroth was right, you know,” Genesis eventually confessed into the silence. “I am broken. I merely _act_ at being sane and whole.”

Cloud shifted in place. It wound up pressing their shoulders and arms together, the warmth a stark contrast with the cold, gritty concrete. “…It’s not like you’re the only one, you know. Vincent has issues. So do I. I don’t remember much, but even Zack, towards the end…” He trailed off. “…I don’t think SOLDIER left anyone whole.”

And that right there was why he would have chosen Cloud, if there had ever truly been a choice. Never in his wildest dreams, when he’d been wasting away within the Banora crater, had he ever believed that there might be someone else who could _understand_.

Had he not blown it entirely, of course. Sephiroth’s taunts still echoed in the back of his mind. How Genesis had been the last, the most personal, in a long string of betrayals.

That Cloud had fought to save Weiss, though, even after Sephiroth’s possession… some hope remained, if only a sliver.  
  
That contemplation, however, brought up another exhausting thought. “Is he gone, now? That was surely the last of the Jenova cells, wasn’t it?” He frowned, thinking of Weiss. “Or do we have to worry about any other surviving SOLDIERs or Tsviets?”  
  
It took a long time for Cloud to answer. “I don’t know for sure,” he eventually admitted. “But I don’t think so. He felt… desperate. Like he’d staked everything on this.” He ran his uninjured hand through his hair. “I wasn’t fully aware, but I could… feel it, I guess. Through the bond.” He took a long, deep breath. “Every time he comes back, there’s less of him. The Lifestream… it’s chipping him away.”  
  
Genesis made a sound of amusement in his throat, though could not summon the feeling that went with it. “Willpower is a finite resource, after all.”  
  
And Sephiroth was finally running out.  
  
The sun sank out of sight, turning the sky an array of dusky reds and purples.

“…We should move,” Genesis said, though didn’t back up his words with any action.

“Right,” Cloud agreed. “Tifa will be worried. And the Turks and WRO will mobilise if we don’t report back.”

He didn’t move either.

They sat there until Midgar grew dark, keeping silent vigil over Weiss’s body. Until the early hours of the morning, when at last he began to dissipate into motes of green light, and the Lifestream reclaimed yet another forsaken child.

Only when the last of the green had faded did Genesis stir. In the intervening hours, mako had almost made up for the lack of a Cure. “Come, Cloud Strife. There is work yet to be done. I don’t care to be hunted by the Turks yet again.” He tugged at his torn shirt. The material clung unpleasantly to his skin, glued there by dried blood. “If you have the strength to spare, that Water materia of yours could be useful, too.”

Cloud sighed. “I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

Genesis groaned. “Sometimes, you almost have me convinced to take you seriously, then you say something so phenomenally _insipid_.”

Cloud responded by dumping half a bathtub’s worth of water over his head.

There was, perhaps, some hope left indeed. Even if Genesis no longer felt he deserved it.

 

 


	29. Epilogue

 

 

It had been the longest night of Tifa’s life. Longer than the nights spent in Mideel, wondering if her childhood friend would ever awake from his mako-induced delirium. Longer than that quiet, solemn, potentially last night spent under the stars. Longer than that first evening in Midgar, after Zagan left, and Tifa found herself all alone in a world gone insane.

They’d returned to Edge first – the Turks disappearing almost immediately to bodyguard Rufus. Tifa and Nanaki had gone back to Seventh Heaven to fill Barret in, and set about calling Reeve and the rest of AVALANCHE, just in case. Cait came riding in on Mog around midnight, to act as their liaison with the WRO. Cid and Yuffie had arrived with the dawn, less than half an hour ago. Tifa tried to keep herself busy, digging out ethers and potions, and making sure everyone was battle-ready.

Eventually, though, all she could do was wait for word. From Cloud, or if the worst happened…

She clenched and unclenched her fists, focusing on the pull of wrappings and leather. “Vincent should be here for this.” If the worst case scenario eventuated, they would need _everyone_.

“Naw, it’s a relief his creepy ass _hasn’t_ turned up,” Barrett grunted. “Then I’d _know_ we’re in trouble.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Cid agreed sourly. “He’s like a goddamn bad omen, only shows up when everything’s going to shit.”

“Try to relax,” Nanaki counselled her, head resting on his crossed paws. “You’ve done everything you can for now.” He at least seemed confident Genesis would get Cloud back for them.

Tifa took a long breath, struggling to recall Master Zagan’s teachings about calm and focus and patience, about the time for action and the time for waiting. It didn’t help.

Sometimes it felt like ever since Meteor, all she’d done was wait for Cloud.

“Wait! Guys!” Yuffie hollered from the window. “I think I see him!”

Tifa jolted in place, ripped from her thoughts and torn between racing to see for herself and risking having her hopes dashed.

Then the door swung open with a tingle of the bell, and Cloud and Genesis stood framed in the entrance, the morning sun blinding at their backs.

“Cloud!” Cait exclaimed.

“’Bout fuckin’ time!” said Cid, puffing angrily on his cigarette.

“What the hell, Spikey, makin’ us worry like that?!” Barret boomed, but his face was stretched in a wide grin.

Tifa braced herself against the countertop, her grip so tight it felt like the wood might crack. “You made it back.”

Cloud’s gaze snapped to her, darting to her neck. She rubbed at it self-consciously, and tried to put on a reassuring face. It didn’t feel convincing to her, but it must have worked, as his posture relaxed minutely.

“By all means, don’t give me any credit,” Genesis sniped.

“Sephiroth?” Cait asked urgently.

Cloud paused at that, eyeing the robot cat warily. “Is that Reeve?”

“Nah, just Cait and Mog,” Cid grumbled. “Reeve’s off trying to corral fucking cactuars at the WRO. Mobilisin’ and shit.”

A ripple of tension ran through both SOLDIERs at that, so Tifa hastily jumped in to explain, “To fight Sephiroth, right, Cait?”

The robot cat nodded vigorously. “Ach, that’s right lads! You’re in the clear, I promise you. Reeve’s already sent word down ‘bout that. Nobody’ll be messing with ya!”

“Not like we’d let them, anyway!” Barret boomed. “Shoulda never let Reeve talk us into any of that shit in the first place. AVALANCHE has got to stick together!”

That Cloud looked reassured made Tifa’s stomach flip – had he been _worried_ about coming here? “Thanks, that helps.”

“You’re too forgiving,” Genesis muttered, only just loud enough to be heard by everyone.

Cloud didn’t acknowledge that comment. “As for Sephiroth, you don’t have to worry. That’s been taken care of.”

The room let out a collective breath of relief at that. “The clone?” Nanaki queried in a softer voice.

That met with an uncomfortably long pause, before Cloud eventually murmured, “…We couldn’t save him.”

“What the hell happened out there?” Barret thumped his gun arm on the table. “How many times is that bastard gonna come back, huh?”

“Shit, and the Church’s destroyed now too, ain’t it?” Cid commented. “If some crap like Geostigma comes up again…”

Cloud shook his head. “I don’t think Sephiroth will – _can_ – come back anymore.” He suddenly looked very tired.

That caught Tifa’s attention, as she found herself running a closer eye over them, reading the story of the past day. They were both a mess – it was obvious that Cloud had at least changed his shirt at some point, but had done a poor job of cleaning all the blood and dirt off his face and arms. The absence of his gloves was telling, as was the raw-looking half-healed wounds on his left hand and shoulder. And Genesis was no better – his jacket tattered, held together by what looked like _staples_ in some parts, and one side liberally darkened by what Tifa suspected was dried blood. All along with a slightly grey tinge to his pallor that spoke of lingering materia exhaustion.

It sent a wave of fear and dread through her. How close had they come this time to losing Cloud for good?

The others were already moving on to new points of interest, though. “Hey, so you’re this ex-SOLDIER guy Tifa and Red were telling me ‘bout, huh?” Barret gave Genesis an assessing stare, followed by a wide grin. “Thanks for taking care of Spikey for us!”

“I’ll say!” Yuffie said with eyes that all but _sparkled_. “Where did Cloud dig _you_ up?”

“I’m starting to think the brat has a thing for pretty boys dressed in red,” Cid grunted at nobody in particular. Then louder, continued, “So, you’re Genesis Rhapsodos. Heard you were dead.”

Genesis subtly shifted outside of Yuffie’s reach. “Have we met?”

“Fell asleep in a _Loveless_ performance once. You woke me up for the final act.”

Cloud side-eyed the former SOLDIER at that. “You went to the theatre enough to make a habit out of that?”  
  
“ _I_ am hardly the one at fault here. The truly alarming thing is the sheer number of philistines who either sleep through or try to leave performances early,” Genesis retorted haughtily.

Cid just grinned around his cigarette. “Didn’t realise it was one of the famous First Class SOLDIERs at the time, though. Name’s Cid Highwind, by the way.”

“A pleasure.” Genesis paused, gaze turning inward. “The name sounds familiar. Did you work for ShinRa?”

“I flew a couple of supply runs back during the Wutai War. We were never formally introduced, though. Never gave enough of a crap about all that networking shit.”

Genesis looked thoughtful. “Ah yes, I may recall. One of our best pilots, until Palmer poached you for the Space Program.”

“Wasn’t poached. Always wanted to go into space.”

They forgot sometimes that it wasn’t just Reeve who’d once worked for ShinRa. That once upon a time, Cid had been high up in the hierarchy in his own way, even if it had come crashing down long before they met.

“Interesting friends indeed, Cloud Strife.” Genesis’s gaze wandered over the rest of the group. “Vincent Valentine?”

“That jerk’s still not answering his phone!” Yuffie fumed.

“He’s been in hiding ever since you left.” Barret rumbled. “Reeve’s been trying to get into contact. You know anything ‘bout it?”

“Hm,” was the full extent of Cloud’s cryptic response on that. “I’ll get in touch with him once things have calmed down a bit.”

“I’ll give you a lift if you need it. Shera Mk II’s parked just outside the city limits,” Cid offered gruffly. “You have any trouble getting here?” He’d apparently taken note of their bedraggled state as well.

“We avoided running into anyone.” It was a strangely evasive answer, until Tifa remembered the wing Genesis had sported before. They’d flown in, then.

Tifa took a deep breath, pushed aside her lingering worries, and finally managed a proper smile. It was always important, to her at least, that she greeted Cloud home with a smile. Some part of her had thought it might help, once upon a time, when he’d been gone more often than not. “I’m glad you’re back. We missed you.”

This time, it was _Cloud_ who looked away, guilt dancing in the edges of his eyes. “Tifa…” He cleared his throat. “We should talk.”

Her smile faltered.

Since when was _Cloud_ the one to ask to talk?

But he was right. They needed to talk. Had needed to talk for a long time. “Right. Now?”

“You’ll be okay?” Cloud asked Genesis.

He was met with scorn. “I should be the one asking that question.” Genesis made a shooing motion. “Go, deal with your melodrama already.”

“I promise I won’t steal his materia!” Yuffie sang, and then paused, considering Genesis greedily. “…Do you even _have_ any materia?”

“Probably better for everyone if you don’t answer that question,” Cid commented around his cigarette.

Tifa led the way to a booth on the far side of the bar, leaving the chatter behind them. It was close enough that they could still see everyone, but far enough away to have at least a modicum of privacy.  
  
“Oh! Your sword – we had to leave it at the Church,” Tifa suddenly recalled. “We tried to bring it back with us, but-” But Reno’s arm was broken, and Nanaki couldn’t help, and it took both her and Rude to merely _lift_ the weapon – carrying it any distance at all was out of the question.

“It’s fine.” Cloud shifted, showing her the sword slung into its usual harness on his back. He unhooked it, propping it up by the table so he could sit down. “We stopped by to pick it up on our way here.”

It was such a normal part of his getup that she hadn’t noticed it until then. “Right, okay. Good.”

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. The air was heavy with awkwardness. How long had it been that way? She wanted to say it was just since the clone became active, but maybe it had been even longer.

“I’m sorry.” Tifa broke the silence first. “What Reeve suggested – it wasn’t meant to go like that. But when you left, I-”

“I know why you did it,” Cloud interrupted. “I’m not happy about it, but I don’t blame you for it. It’s not you I’m mad at. Not really.” He ran a tired hand through his spikes. “I thought, when I saw Sephiroth had you-” He cut himself off, hesitated, and then finished, “It didn’t seem so important, after that.”

“You left your phone,” Tifa said. “I think it was important.”

He didn’t have any response for that.

She clasped her hands in her lap, staring down at them. Her knuckles were still wrapped, ready for battle. “Were things really that bad? That you couldn’t even trust me anymore?”

He’d kept so many secrets. It was Geostigma all over again.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you,” Cloud replied. “I didn’t tell you about Genesis for other reasons. Reasons I didn’t really understand myself, at first.”

The following silence grew fat, thickening the air between them.

Then Cloud said, “It’s not working.”

She swallowed, and wished the silence back. “I know.”

“I don’t want to run away anymore,” he confessed. “I don’t want to keep lying to you, either. Or myself.” He shifted restlessly in his seat, and abruptly admitted, “I’m in a relationship with him. Genesis.”

Tifa paused.

Digested that.

Then burst out, “ _What_?”

Nanaki glanced over, but Tifa hurriedly waved his attention back away. She leaned across the table, speaking in a furious whisper. “You’re talking about a _romantic_ relationship, right?”

That was a faint blush rising on Cloud’s cheeks, she was sure of it. She hadn’t seen that in  _years._

She sat back again, stunned. There were so many questions, so many things she needed to say, that she didn’t know where to begin. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? That you were…” Of all the secrets Cloud had been keeping lately, _this_ one surely was both safe and necessary to share!

He hunched his shoulders, beginning to resemble the more evasive, embarrassed Cloud she’d known in childhood, before he left for ShinRa. “It caught me by surprise too. I think I might have known once, before…” He trailed off, gaze turning distant.

Before mako screwed with his memories.

It explained an awful lot, in retrospect. She _had_ wondered about it, more than once, when Cloud never seemed interested, never even _looked_. They couldn’t forget that whole incident with the dress, either. But he’d never quite fit the stereotype, and there had been that whole thing with Aeris, so she’d never taken the notion seriously. Never followed that train of thought to its inevitable conclusion.

Still, okay. Right. She wasn’t prepared for this turn of events, but she could _accept_ it. After all, she’d spent plenty of time wandering through Sector Six back in Midgar so it wasn’t exactly a foreign idea, and she once thought Biggs and Wedge had something going on too. It would take some getting used to, but…

“With _him_?” she sputtered. “He’s…” She struggled for words. A diva? A stranger with a seriously suspicious past?

They glanced over at the others, where Genesis had Yuffie all but hanging off his arm and Barret laughing uproariously.

“He can be charming when he puts his mind to it,” Cloud offered.

She shook her head in disbelief. They’d only met for a scant few minutes, but for most of those minutes Genesis had been a First-Class _jerk_.

Although… she supposed he’d been operating under the idea that she’d sold out Cloud to the WRO at the time. And he’d healed her even so, and Nanaki too. And then he’d gone to face down Sephiroth single-handedly, with half-mended injuries, to get Cloud back.

She turned back to face him properly then, and to her surprise, met his eyes clearly.

It almost took her aback. Somehow, she’d become used to him avoiding her gaze, turning his face away, or hiding behind sunglasses. But now he didn’t flinch, glowing eyes steady and focused on her.

“He’s been good for you,” she realised.

Cloud _did_ look away then, grimacing. “Vincent said the same thing.”

It was hard not to be jealous. It wasn’t the same sort of jealousy she’d had for Aeris, but something quieter. More desolate. The realisation that despite years of trying to provide everything she thought Cloud had needed, someone else had done more for him than she ever could.

“How long?” she asked.

“We met at that _Loveless_ performance. The relationship…” He hesitated. “…Not until I left. It’s still new, but I want to see where it goes. And that means…”

She didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to draw it out in words. “I get it.”

This was a break-up talk. Even if – looking back – they’d never formally discussed their relationship in the first place.

Tifa had never really had dreams, not the way some of the others had. Until her hometown burned, her life had been mostly comfortable, her wants simple and in many ways childish. She’d had a vague wish to leave Nibelheim. Hopes of a knight in shining armour sweeping her off her feet, and carrying her into an adventure with a fairy tale ending.

Cheap wishes and romantic fantasies. She’d known that, and so focused on the practical matters of life instead.

It still hurt to see them die all over again.

Some of that must have shown on her face, because Cloud murmured, “None of this was your fault.”

She grimaced, looking away. “It’s everyone’s fault,” she replied, “And no one’s.”

They fell silent. Tifa tried to think, tried to imagine what would change, where life would go now. But it was too soon. She was still getting over too many shocks from the past _day_ , much less the past couple of weeks. It left her numb.

“I’m going to need some time. To get used to the idea,” she eventually admitted, then hurried to clarify, “You’re still welcome here, though. Always. Genesis, too.”

He shifted in his seat. “Thanks. But I think we’re going to steer clear of Edge for a while. Until things die down a bit.”

Oh.

“You’re leaving, then.”

“Just for a while. I’ll come back and visit. Later…” He shrugged. “We’ll see.” He fiddled awkwardly, before continuing, “Marlene and Denzel…”

“-Will be fine,” Tifa interrupted, because even if she could hardly recognise the Cloud currently sitting before her, she could recognise _that_ particular guilt trip coming a mile away. “They’re growing up fast. Marlene will be nine soon. Denzel’s already twelve. They’re old enough to understand.” She crossed her arms. “So long as you call and visit. We’ll hold you to that. No pulling a Vincent on us.”

His lips quirked with the hint of a smile. “Right.” He glanced around the room. “Where are they, anyway?”

“Stayed up all night waiting with us, even though I told them to go rest while they could. They only crashed out about an hour ago.” Which was the only reason she could guess as to why they’d slept through the ruckus so far.

Cloud nodded in understanding. “Let them sleep. I’ll come by again before we leave, to say goodbye properly.” He stood, but hesitated. “I’m sorry. I never wanted… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Tifa stood with him. “That’s relationships, Cloud. You’re going to have to get used to it.”

Neither moved for a long moment – maybe both knowing that as soon as they did, something profound would have ended. That what had been words would now become reality. A sense of nostalgia, a fear of change in a world that had changed too much already, glued their feet to the floor.

Tifa refused to fear change. She spun on her heel and led the way back to the others. “Come on, we shouldn’t leave Genesis fending for himself forever.” Especially not with _Yuffie_ , whose kleptomania tended to rear its head with new people, like it was some sort of initiation rite if you spent more than ten minutes in her presence.

Despite what she’d said, when they re-joined the group Genesis appeared to be holding up remarkably well, though that might have been because the topic had moved on to colourful epithets about ShinRa and Sephiroth, which all of AVALANCHE could get behind and for which Genesis could apparently bring reams of fresh material to the table.

“You guys done?” Barret called out.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Cloud took up position next to Genesis. They exchanged a fleeting look, before Cloud nodded slightly, and Genesis’s shoulders relaxed.

There were questions in everyone’s eyes, so Tifa cast about for something to do. Her gaze landed on one of the side tables, where she’d gathered supplies earlier. “Oh! I have some ethers and potions. You should take some before you go.”

“You’re going?” Yuffie asked in horror. “ _Already_?”

“We’ll come by again later. There are some things we have to deal with first,” Cloud replied. “And thanks. You can keep the potions, but we could use the ethers.” He took three, and tossed two to Genesis. Genesis pocketed one, and immediately downed the other. His complexion improved almost instantly.

With the colour back in his face, he really _was_ astoundingly good-looking – the sort of person she could imagine gracing magazine covers. “Where are you off to?” she asked. Making conversation, at this point. Trying to make things feel natural again, even though they wouldn’t feel natural for a long time to come.

“Someone I’ve been meaning to talk to for a while.” Cloud shared another glance with Genesis. “Ready to go?”

“As fascinating as your friends are, Cloud Strife, we’re here for your sake, not mine,” Genesis remarked. He took a shallow bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

AVALANCHE in general made the usual disorganised babble of unique pleasantries back. Tifa stayed silent, but made sure to hold Genesis’s stare as his eyes swept across them. They lingered, briefly, and she was struck by how similar they were to Cloud’s. Not just the colour or mako glow, either.

She nodded at him. She didn’t like him - or maybe it was more she didn’t _know_ him - but she would entrust her childhood friend to him. Genesis replied with a regal dip of his head in return. No hint of apology, but a silent acknowledgement.

Then they were gone, as quickly as they’d come, and Seventh Heaven was quiet was once more.

“Jeez, that was a lot of fuss over nothing then,” Yuffie complained into the sudden silence. “Now what are we gonna do?”

“You stupid or something?!” Barret thumped her on the head with his normal hand. “Did you really _wanna_ fight Sephiroth? Be grateful we got nothing to do!”

Cait nudged Mog closer to Tifa and tugged on her shirt. “What did Cloud want to talk about?”

“Oi, didn’t that look like a private conversation to you, you bucket of bolts?” Cid growled, picking up the toy cat by the scruff of his neck.

Cait flailed wildly in his grip. “Yikes, I was just asking!”

“It’s okay,” Tifa said, clasping her hands behind her back. She kept her head held high, but couldn’t quite bring herself to meet anyone’s eyes. “You’d find out eventually anyway. We agreed that it wasn’t working out. He’s leaving with Genesis for a while.”

“Wait, with Genesis? Do you mean… are they like… you know… are they…” Yuffie made some obscene gestures with her hands.

“Yuffie!” Barret barked.

“What?! I can’t be the only one who was thinking it!”

Nanaki had gone wide-eyed. “Oh. So that’s what Vincent meant.”

“Aw hell, what are you lot, a bunch of teenagers?!” Cid scowled. “Quit gossipin’, you’re embarrassing yourselves.” He puffed on his cigarette angrily, and gave Tifa a beady stare. “You alright, Tifa?”

She folded her arms, and managed a small smile in response. “I will be.”

It was probably better this way. She could rage at the unfairness of it, cry a bit, and in the end absolve them both of blame. She didn’t have to break it off herself. She could finally stop waiting for a day that would never come.

And maybe… maybe now Cloud could be happy. And once he was happy… maybe Tifa could allow herself to be too.

 

………………..

 

Cloud kicked in the door with a single blow. It tore off its hinges in a deafening crash and a shower of splinters.

“I do appreciate your sense for dramatic entrances,” Genesis commented.

They stepped to the side as a bullet whizzed past and struck the wall behind them. “I don’t think Tseng agrees,” Cloud commented, stepping back into the doorway with his sword held out like a shield. His gaze swept the office. It was easily twice the size of Reeve’s at the WRO, yet featured little more than a large polished wooden desk and plush dark blue carpet.

And three Turks, all with their weapons drawn and ready to attack.

“Hold your fire!” a smooth voice ordered. A moment later, from behind Tseng a familiar face emerged, dressed in a perfectly pressed white suit, and blond hair carefully combed back. “Cloud. What a surprise.”

“Rufus ShinRa.” Cloud lowered his sword, slinging it back into its harness.

“I’d appreciate it if you simply knocked next time. Under the circumstances, such a violent entry is bad for everyone’s nerves,” Rufus said amiably, before suddenly lurching half a step backwards as Genesis followed him into the room. “You’re-!”

“So nice to see you again, _Vice-President_ ,” Genesis greeted with a grin that would put a coeurl to shame. “You’re much taller than I remember. Children grow up _so_ fast.”

Rufus’s expression flickered wildly, until swiftly reverting back into pleasant neutrality. “Reno informed me that you were alive, but I admit I wasn’t prepared to see you so soon.”

“I decided to come out of retirement.”

Rufus settled into the tall-back leather chair behind his desk, Tseng immediately moving to stand at his shoulder. Reno slouched in one corner and Rude stood at attention in the other. “In that case, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, gentlemen?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Cloud said. “You know why I’m here.” He should have done this ages ago.

“Humour me.”

Cloud crossed his arms. “This whole mess had ShinRa’s dirty fingerprints all over it. You might not have caused any of it directly, but don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I understand you’ve been having troubles, but I fail to see what that has to do with Neo-ShinRa.”

“Please,” Genesis scoffed. “I’m a _hermit_ and even I could tell what you were doing, it was so obvious. ShinRa public relations for beginners – when the company is trying to shake off bad press, create a villain to take the heat instead. Then when the public is sufficiently frightened by this new threat, swoop in to deal with the menace. You generate good press and distract from the bad all at once.”

Rufus folded his hands in his lap. “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.”

Genesis smirked, and flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Naturally. I’ve had the honour of being on  _both_ ends of such campaigns.”

“I suppose you would have a unique perspective,” Rufus conceded. “However, you forget that the threat was in fact, very real. If it weren’t for-”

“I was _shot_ at, and couldn’t even return to Edge to let anyone know that Sephiroth was back,” Cloud interrupted. “Think about how things could have gone if they played out even just a little differently.”

“That ain’t-” Reno started to snap from the corner, but Rufus held up a hand, and the Turk fell sullenly silent.

“I will grant you that things developed in unforseen ways, and that in this instance we were fortunate that there were not worse consequences. Neo-ShinRa is once again very grateful for the service you’ve provided to the community. And rest assured, Reeve has already spoken with me as well. We will be doing everything in our power to make amends.”

“Maybe instead of making amends, you could stop causing me trouble in the first place.”

“As I’ve stated repeatedly, that was never our intention.” Rufus spread his palms disarmingly. "You were simply collateral damage, Cloud. Not everything revolves around you."  
  
"Then ShinRa really hasn't learned anything," Cloud spat. "You want to be different from your father? Figure out a way to do things that doesn't involve collateral damage. Then maybe Neo-ShinRa will have actually _changed_." His piece said, he spun on his heel to leave. Talking to Rufus always frustrated him, and he was better off going before he drove a fist through the wall.

“Try not to get into any more trouble, _Vice-President_ ,” Genesis sneered as he followed Cloud from the room.

They headed back through the fluorescent-lit hallways of Neo-ShinRa’s headquarters, leaving a trail of spooked office workers in their wake. It might have had something to do with their entrance via the roof. There was a lot less security to deal with coming from the top floor.

“You enjoyed that,” Cloud noted once they were out of earshot.

Genesis’s grin was all teeth. “He was always a pompous, power-hungry little brat. It was an absolute joke that he was made Vice-President at his age. I would say that it was the beginning of ShinRa’s downfall, but then, the rot had set in long before. It was only starting to stink.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Rufus would have been Vice-President at ShinRa while Cloud was a trooper, but huge swathes of his days at ShinRa had been lost to mako poisoning. He couldn’t even remember the names of his squad members, much less anything about office politics at the time.

Cloud hit the button to the call the elevator to go down. He didn’t want to hitch a ride from Genesis if it weren’t necessary. Short stints were fine, but motion sickness was never fun.

The elevator arrived with a soft, digital chime, and he and Genesis stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor. Just before the doors closed, Reno and Rude slipped in after them.

Cloud’s hand immediately found the hilt of his sword. Genesis mirrored his movement.

“We’re not here to fight, yo.” Reno held up a hand in a gesture of surrender. The other was wrapped in a cast and sling, and Cloud had a micro-second’s spike of guilt at the recollection of their skirmish. “Boss just wanted us to escort you out, make sure security didn’t give you any trouble or nothin’, that’s all.”

“Or, perhaps, to make certain that _we_ don’t cause any trouble?” Genesis remarked archly.

“Or that,” Reno agreed easily.

Cloud shifted into a less offensive stance, though he didn’t remove his hand from First Tsurugi.

The doors slid shut again under a frosty silence. Genesis crossed his arms, eyeing both Turks with open derision.

The elevator slowly ticked past the levels. The building was nowhere near as tall as the original ShinRa Headquarters, but the elevator dramatically slower. Rude cleared his throat.

“Look, I ain’t saying sorry,” growled Reno abruptly. “You were acting shady as _shit_ , yo.”

“I’m not saying sorry for your arm, either,” Cloud replied flatly. “Why haven’t you healed it yet?”

“Your boyfriend over there took off with the only damn Restore materia around without bothering to share,” Reno snapped.  
  
Genesis huffed. “It’s not as though you asked. I seem to recall you were much too busy  _threatening_ me, in fact. Your tactics in that respect are positively _stellar_.”  
  
Meanwhile, Cloud blinked, animosity briefly forgotten. “How did you know that we were…?” He’d only told Tifa, and that was less than an hour ago.

“You mean- You’re seriously- aw hell!” Reno spluttered. “That’s a like a fucking bomb waiting to go off, yo!”

The animosity made a swift return. “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

Reno opened his mouth to reply, and then spying both his and Genesis’s expressions, appeared to think better of it. He leaned against the elevator wall with a scowl. “Whatever. It’s not the point anyway. I ain’t apologising and you’re just going to have to deal.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Cloud said. “What the hell is your problem, anyway?” Reno seemed more angry than embarrassed. It wasn’t exactly the response he’d expected.

“Nothin’!” When Rude turned his head slightly to stare Reno down, the Turk slouched and amended, “Fine! I’m just pissed, yo. That you stole our chance to get even.”

“Of course. Because fighting Sephiroth is _so much fun_ ,” Genesis drawled, brushing somewhat deliberately at the rips and bloodstains still marring his coat. “By all means, next time you’re welcome to take him on first. We can take bets on how long you’ll last.”

“There won’t _be_ a next time,” Cloud interrupted, before Reno could get out his retort. “Even if there _were_ any Jenova cells left, there won’t be enough of Sephiroth.”

Reno shoved his working hand in his pocket and turned his head, glaring at the elevator wall. “I know all that, okay? Doesn’t change shit. Elena deserved better.”

Genesis opened his mouth to reply, but Cloud quelled him with a quick look. The former SOLDIER acceded with a polite tilt of the head, and turned his attention to inspecting the cuffs of his coat. Right or wrong, some topics were better left alone.

This time, the silence held until they _finally_ reached the ground floor, and the elevator whooshed open with a soft _ding_.

Reno and Rude didn’t move to follow them out. As Cloud stepped into the foyer, though, Rude rumbled, “The bike.”

“Ah, right,” Reno muttered. “Your bike’s clean, yo.”

Genesis raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t before?”

The Turk’s face twisted. “Cloud knows what I’m talking about.”

Cloud nodded. He wouldn’t say thanks, though. Not for what should be the case in the first place.

Still, it was a relief, knowing that he could reclaim Fenrir. Something small and normal, after the last few weeks of extreme displacement.

“Later, yo.”

The doors slid shut again with a gentle clank. Genesis and Cloud left the foyer, heading onto the concrete paths of the street outside.

The air felt incredibly fresh against his skin, even though they’d not been inside for more than fifteen minutes. The sun was warm, and the roads were busy but the sidewalk relatively quiet. It was as close as it got to a perfect day in Edge.

“So, who shall we terrorise next, Cloud Strife?” Genesis asked. “You mentioned Reeve Tuesti, earlier?”

Cloud slanted him a glance. There had been a slightly odd tone to his voice, a discordant note that caught his attention. And now that he was looking, his companion seemed both tired and increasingly uncomfortable.  
  
Genesis hid it well – _extremely_ well – but Cloud was familiar enough with him by now to recognise the tension in his posture, the way he was holding himself almost _too_ casually. Being this deep in Edge, on top of meeting everyone at Seventh Heaven earlier, and then facing off with Rufus and the Turks after that…  
  
Too much, too fast. Cloud could appreciate that. He didn’t handle crowds wonderfully on a _good_ day, and he’d not just emerged from several years of almost total isolation. And then there was the wound of Weiss’s loss, still so fresh…  
  
“I think that’s enough. We spoke to Cait – that’s as good as speaking to Reeve.”  
  
He watched, and caught the subtle shift of muscles as Genesis relaxed. “A shame,” he said. “I had hoped to make a larger impression when I came out of retirement.”

Amused, Cloud asked, “Taking on Sephiroth wasn’t enough of an impression for you?”

“Even the most glorious battle remains fiction without witnesses,” Genesis quoted authoritatively as they made their way along the sidewalk, heading vaguely back towards Seventh Heaven. Their path led them through the centre of Edge, and they soon found themselves walking through Meteor Plaza.

Cloud noted Genesis’s gaze lingering on the Meteor Monument – the twisted sculpture of scrap metal erected as a memorial, destroyed by Bahamut SIN, and now finally reconstructed once again. “You’ve never been this far into Edge, I guess,” Cloud murmured. “Neo-ShinRa commissioned it, when people first started re-building here.”

Genesis scoffed at that. “A mark of ownership in the ruins they helped create? Tasteful.”

Cloud shrugged. “Probably. A lot of people resented it when it first went up. But it’s all some people have. Too many bodies disappeared into the Lifestream before they could be identified.”

They came to a stop by the monument, Genesis bending to read the plaque set before it. The plaza was eerily deserted, giving it an unusually sombre atmosphere. Later, when it hit lunchtime, it would fill up with hundreds of office workers from Neo-ShinRa’s headquarters or the WRO’s offices, and in the afternoon once school let out it would turn into a popular meeting place for the bored inner-city children. For now, however, they had it to themselves, with only the occasional civilian passing through on errands.

Cloud shifted restlessly. He needed to ask, and couldn’t put it off any longer. “About what I said, earlier. To Reno.” To Tifa, too, but Genesis hadn’t been there for that. “Do you still… are we…?” He fumbled for words. He couldn’t seem to find any that didn’t sound hopelessly insecure and childish.

Genesis straightened. “I had thought, given earlier events, that you had ruled such possibilities out.”

He _had_ reacted poorly to the revelation that Genesis had been keeping Weiss’s role in the whole saga a secret from him – even now that breach of trust stung. And Sephiroth’s barbs still echoed in the back of his mind, doubts left unresolved.

“…I don’t know what to make of it anymore. Any of it,” Cloud eventually admitted. Maybe not even that first unexpected kiss in the theatre.

They both stared up at the twisted metal sculpture. It gleamed in the early morning sun, and its shadow scattered and stretched like a misshapen spider web across the pavement.

“It seems to me, Cloud Strife,” Genesis began haltingly, “that neither of us have been entirely forthright. With each other, or perhaps, ourselves. Assumptions have been made. Too many of them.” His lips pursed. “Even _I_ know that is not the most stable foundation for any sort of lasting… relationship.”

“I know.” He’d learned that lesson with Tifa. “I want to at least try. But…”

“But…?” Genesis prompted.

He mulled over it for a long moment, and then finally settled on asking, “Why?”

“Pardon?”

“Why… this? Me?”

In the end, that was what it all boiled down to. A lack of understanding of motives. There was too much tangled history between them, their circumstances too strange, for him to keep taking things at face value.

“It’s unbecoming to fish for compliments, Cloud Strife,” Genesis lectured.

Cloud gave him a flat stare. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Of course I have. I live in a _theatre_. Your point?”

Cloud sighed and turned his gaze back to the monument. “Never mind, then.”

In the following silence he could all but _hear_ Genesis stewing. He rode it out. Cloud could enjoy silence for days at a time, but Genesis, for all his solitude, was a man who preferred it remain relegated purely to the realm of dramatic pauses.

“ _Beloved is the Dawn  
_ _The bell of broken slumber  
_ _To a healed world, a new oath  
_ _A promise carried past the end.”_ His voice carried across the plaza, a lonely echo of plays long past.

Cloud waited, but when Genesis didn’t add anything more, asked, “…Is that your idea of an answer?”

“You’re right. I have no idea what I was thinking. You clearly have no appreciation for the arts,” Genesis sniffed.

“I appreciate the arts fine. It’s just kind of difficult for me when your primary method of communication is _poetry_ ,” Cloud muttered.

Genesis folded his arms haughtily. “Ask vague questions and receive vague answers, Cloud Strife. If you wish for me to speak plainly, then speak plainly yourself.”

He didn’t want to articulate it, not while the wounds of the past day were so fresh, but if he didn’t deal with this now, it would become his relationship with Tifa all over again. “I can’t figure it out. I keep wondering - is it because of Zack? Or am I replacement for Sephiroth? Or is it just that you’ve been so isolated that _anybody_ would do?” He couldn’t help the sound of frustration in the back of his throat.

“You _have_ been harbouring some concerns, haven’t you?” Genesis asked, eyebrows raised.

Cloud glanced away, turning to watch the traffic passing by instead. It hadn’t seemed important before, when it felt like the whole world had turned against him. But now, after Sephiroth… he needed to clear the air. It was the only way he could hope to put the nightmare fully behind him.

“I doubt that there is any way I can answer that question which will satisfy you,” Genesis admitted with a shrug. “Is it because you are connected to Zack, and by extension Angeal? Perhaps partially, at least when we were still strangers. Are you a replacement for Sephiroth? Hardly, beyond the fact that I have found in you a far more worthy and satisfying rival than I ever did him. As for isolation, how are either of us to know for sure? Yet I have had plenty of opportunities even in my exile to seek companionship, and I did not feel the urge.”

He paused, staring up at the Meteor Monument, the morning light playing across his features. Eventually, he said, “Perhaps it can best be answered another way. Tell me, Cloud Strife. How did you fare in your quest for _understanding_?”

The question took Cloud briefly aback. It felt like a lifetime ago since he’d voiced that request to Genesis, that excuse to Vincent.

“I don’t think it was that I needed to understand, really,” Cloud muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “…It was more, I needed to be understood.”

Genesis went still.

“Genesis?” Cloud prodded when he didn’t respond. And then stumbled back as Genesis suddenly seized him by the collar and dragged him into a kiss. “-mmph!”

When they broke apart again – Genesis not relinquishing his hold – he breathed, “Therein lies your answer, Cloud Strife.”

Cloud just stood there, still faintly dazed. Genesis had that effect on him a lot. “That’s all there is to it?”

“In a world that so hastily judges you, you underestimate the value in a companion who judges you for nothing.” Genesis released his collar to slide his fingers along Cloud’s throat to his jaw, his touch feather-light. “Though certainly, it is not your _only_ redeeming feature.”

Cloud caught his hands. Neither of them were wearing gloves for once – Genesis’s too soaked with blood, and Cloud’s torn ragged.

They stood like that, in the middle of Meteor plaza, as thirty seconds crawled by in an instant.

“So,” Genesis eventually murmured, “I ask again. What now, Cloud Strife?”

He considered it. “First, let’s go back to the theatre and get some sleep.” Neither of them had anything amounting to meaningful rest for the better part of three days now. They could still function as normal, and the ethers Tifa had given them earlier had helped, but even SOLDIERs had limits. “Then I guess we ought to go track down Vincent and Shelke, let them know they can come out of hiding.” There was no particular rush, and given enough time Shelke would likely go net diving to gather news herself, but he owed Vincent a heads up. “As for longer term… what do you want to do? Do you want to keep staying at the theatre?”

“There is little point, now that my continued existence is no longer secret,” Genesis remarked with a shrug. “I would not be averse to shifting somewhere with electricity and plumbing. The only value the theatre retains is memories now.” His voice darkened on that last note.

Reminders of Weiss. Cloud could understand he would want to get away from that. “I have a mansion in Costa Del Sol then. We could go there for a while.”

Genesis’s expression turned incredulous. “You have a mansion. In Costa Del Sol.”

“Yeah.” When Genesis’s expression didn’t shift, he explained, “I sold off some excess materia, and I had a lot of winnings from the chocobo races too. Rufus put it up for sale after the President died, and I guess it was part getting one over ShinRa, but it was probably more that it’s never a good idea to have a lot of gil around Yuffie.”

“Dear Goddess, not just _a_ mansion, but _ShinRa’s_ mansion. You’re actually rich,” Genesis sputtered. “ _Why_ , pray tell, were you living in a spare room in a bar running a one-man delivery service when you have a _mansion_ in Costa Del Sol?!”

Cloud shrugged. “AVALANCHE wanted to help with the rebuilding efforts to begin with. And there was the Church – I wanted to take care of the flowers, for Aeris.” The thought made his chest ache. Sephiroth had destroyed the Church utterly. When they stopped by to retrieve his sword, that had been apparent.

Better the flowers lost than Genesis, though. Maybe a couple of years ago, he wouldn’t have been at peace with that, but these days he was sure that Aeris wouldn’t have accepted any other outcome.

Genesis shook his head in bemused wonder. “Just when I think I have you figured out Cloud Strife, you throw in some other ludicrous revelation.”  
  
Cloud crossed his arms, maybe a trifle defensively. “Do you want to go to Costa Del Sol or not?”  
  
“This at least explains the ridiculous extravagance of your custom sword and bike,” Genesis declared. “You’ve been secretly sitting on a fortune this entire time. I’ve changed my answer. I was only after you for your gil.”  
  
“Right, you can stay in the theatre then, _I’ll_ go live in the beachside mansion.” he replied in a deadpan, turning on his heel and walking away.  
  
Then there was a blast of air at his back, and arms dragging him into the sky with startling swiftness. “Genesis!” Cloud cursed.

Genesis merely smirked. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Cloud Strife!”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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